The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) Read online

  Max woke up late the next morning. He tried calling Alice to see if she could get him a bag of blood. He had no idea how else to get one. She didn't answer, so he left a message and went to roust Mike out of bed.

  It took Max a long time to get Mike moving, so they pulled up to the house well past the crack of noon. Max found himself feeling a little anxious at what he would find. He and Mike got out of the car slowly— Max because of his trepidation, Mike because of his hangover. Mike had gotten a serious head start on the drinking and Max's arrival had given him a second wind.

  Max took a deep breath and headed to the front door. He noticed Mike wasn't following him, but instead, limping on his crutches to the side of the house. “Mike, the door is this way.”

  Mike waved his hand dismissively at Max without turning around. “Gotta pee!”

  When a man's gotta go, a man's gotta go, but Max was annoyed that Mike had “gotta go” right that minute. Max was not shy about admitting to himself that he didn't want to enter the house alone, so he waited for Mike. It was fortunate because Max was still outside when he heard Mike call out in pain.

  Max wasted no time. He sprinted out to where Mike had disappeared around the house. When he came around the corner, Max saw that Mike only had one leg. His good leg was just gone—as if it had been ripped off by something very strong.

  “Mike!” When Max got closer, he saw that Mike’s good leg was stuck in a hole, leaving him sprawled face first on the ground with his cast-laden leg stretched out behind him. There was pretty much no chance of him getting up on his own.

  Max sped over to Mike. “Mike, are you okay?” Mike was busily spewing a stream of profanity. Max figured that he must not be too hurt. Getting Mike out of the hole was a bit awkward, but they managed.

  “Friggin gophers!” moaned Mike from the ground. “I think I sprained my other leg!”

  Max got his first look at the hole, and he blanched when he recognized it. He said shakily, “Mike, that isn't a gopher hole. Remember how I told you that I buried Vlad's body? Well, this is the hole I dug.”

  Mike massaged his aching head and frowned. “Must have been some sort of animal came and dug up the bones.”

  The thought relieved Max for about two heartbeats. Then, Max looked down into the round, deep hole and the dirt piled up around it. “Mike, what kind of animal would dig such a narrow deep hole like that?”

  “An ant-eater?” At Max's scowl he added, “Well something had to dig that hole. Those bones didn't dig themselves out... aw shit Max! No! I mean, hell no! Are you saying the body grew back a head so now we got two of those bloodsuckers running around?”

  Max looked at Mike with a miserable helplessness. He spread his hands out and shrugged. “I really hope not, Mikey.”

  “That's it! I'm done!” said Mike. “I'm going the fuck back home and take my chances with unemployment. I've had enough. This is just too much.” Mike struggled to get up without much luck. He scowled at Max and demanded, “Get me my crutches and help me get out of here!”

  Max panicked. He said, “Mike, I can't do this alone. Okay, I'll pay you fifty million dollars if you stay!”

  Mike shook his head. “No way, I'll never get paid if this shit keeps up. We're both going to end up dead. Even if I manage to survive, you won't be writing any checks if you die.”

  Max said, “Look, I'll wire the money into your account tonight! That way you'll know the money is waiting for you. Please don't leave me here alone!”

  Mike stopped struggling to stand and laid flat back on the dirt and long grasses. He closed his eyes, pinched his nose, and sighed, “Damn it Max that's not fair! Why can't you just go get yourself a different eccentricity? Collect blondes or buy the Louvre or something.”

  Max looked at Mike helplessly, he said, “I don't really know, Mike, but I cannot turn my back on this. I just can't.”

  Mike sighed again in defeat. “I hate you... Okay, I'll stay. But you're going to owe me way more than money! Now help me up.”

  Max's sigh echoed Mike's, but his was of relief. He helped pull his friend onto his feet and held him up as he double limped back to the front of the house. Along the way Mike said, “Hey, did you keep Paul's number? I'm thinking having some bodyguards around here would be an exceptionally good idea.”

  Max could see the wisdom in that. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I'll try calling him this afternoon.”

  Between grunts Mike said, “I doubt all the bullets in the world would stop Vlad or his evil headless twin Skippy who just crawled out of that hole there, but if Paul and company make a stand shooting dead guys while we run, they'll get eaten first.”

  “Jee...Sheesh Mike!”

  “Yeah, I know, but I'm just saying...”

  When the two got back to the front door, Max opened it cautiously and looked around. When nothing with glowing eyes or sharp teeth came running at him, he walked in and called out tentatively, “Hello? Vlad? Josh?”

  The only answering sound came from the television in the music room. Max told Mike, “Wait here,” and went to see what there was to see. Once again, it wasn't what he had expected. The television was tuned to One Life to Love, and a young man was sitting on the couch engrossed in the drama. From his profile, he was good looking with a long flowing mass of wavy black hair, a full mustache, and the solid beginnings of a beard. He had a sharp blade of a nose... “Vlad!” said Max in astonishment. “What happened to you? You're young!”

  Vlad shrugged as if it were no big deal to him. He said, “Last night, I ran out of pills for that pathetic, whinging excuse for a man. His howling got to be too much so I put him out of his misery. His blood has returned me to my normal form.”

  “Vlad! I told you not to hurt anyone! You gave me your word!”

  Vlad just looked coolly at him. “He begged to die, so I granted him his wish.”

  “So... is he dead?”

  Vlad scowled. “No. Unfortunately he will not stay dead.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “He is back in the kitchen so I don't have to listen to his mewling babble.”

  “I don't hear him crying now.”

  “No. Even though this location is remote and difficult to find, over the course of my time in this house, I found it necessary to have a place where people could not be heard screaming. There is a small room behind the pantry that is very well sound proofed.”

  Max went cold. It hadn't really hit him just what a monster Vlad must really be. He probably should have just buried his head with his bones... oh yeah... that wouldn't have helped.

  Vlad's dark gaze seemed to penetrate his thoughts. He said, “Do not concern yourself with those who perished here to feed my blood lust. They were all monsters. Hunters of women and children or sinners of the worst sort.”

  Max swallowed hard, “I, I guess I'm glad to, ah, hear that.”

  “The unkillable poltroon is there unharmed. Now, with your leave, I shall finish watching my show.”

  “Uh, knock yourself out. I mean okay. I'll just, a, go get, uh, Josh.”

  Halfway through Max's uncomfortable stuttering speech, Vlad turned his attention back to the television. Max didn't get much of a chance to consider things when there was the thunk and clatter of falling plaster and Mike's voice rang out, “Damn it! Keep it up you garbage heap and fifty million or no, you are kindling! Do you hear me?” Max hurried out to rescue his friend and his house.

  After banging around, pushing and pulling various boards and things around the open cupboard, there was a click. It allowed Max to move it to the side, barely. It was heavy! As Max grunted and pushed, Mike, sitting on the huge butcher block table, grinned. “Perhaps it just needs some oil? Or maybe you just need to work out more?”

  Max paused to pant. “Ha, ha. Funny guy.” He looked at his work. For all his straining, the pantry had only slid to the side about an inch, revealing a black hole. Max peered into the darkness but was unable to make anything out, but the charnel house smell coming from t
he small opening was nearly enough to choke him. He called into the hole, “Josh? Are you there?”

  There was a moment of silence and then he heard a heavy sigh, followed by a reply. “Yes... I'm always here.” Max exchanged looks with Mike. It sounded like Josh had gotten himself under control. Max pushed against the cabinet with renewed vigor and managed to shift it another few inches.

  Helpfully, Mike said, “Perhaps if you laid off the cheesy puffs?”

  Max put everything he had into the next shove and the ancient wood of the pantry groaned as it slid over the floor another half foot. Max peered into the crack again which allowed more of the dim light of the kitchen into Josh's cell. The room was larger than he thought, and he could just see a pair of bare feet revealed by the light. They were a few feet back from the opening on a bare wooden floor stained with various unsavory splotches. Max said, “Uh, Josh, do you think you could give me a hand getting you out of there?”

  A few heartbeats later, the feet disappeared as Josh stood up and then he was revealed by the light. Josh was now an olive-hued, thin young man with curly dark hair, a prominent nose, and tired, hollowed eyes. He grabbed the edge of the pantry and together he and Max were able to shift the recalcitrant cabinet enough to allow Josh to get out. Once he was out, it was again clear to Max that Josh was of some sort of middle eastern ancestry. His skin was somewhat swarthy, and his hair and eyebrows were bushy and nearly black like Vlad's. Though Josh's was much more open. There were the beginnings of stubble around his square jaw, and he smelled like... Max quickly took a few steps back as his eyes started to water up.

  Josh looked at Max and said apologetically, “I'm sorry if I have caused you any trouble.” He narrowed his eyes and squinted at Max. “It's all pretty blurry, but your name is Max, right?” Max nodded. Josh said, “Sometimes the transition is rough. Especially this time. It's been a long time since I've actually remembered anything through the drugs and having everything come back all at once is really tough.”

  The comment reminded Max that this was the same man that had shown up at his doorstep, an ancient reject from Woodstock. Max said, “Oh, well, no problem, really.”

  Mike interjected, “He means that it will be no problem as soon as you clean up the vomit in the music room.”

  Max added, “And take a bath.”

  Josh looked apologetically at Max. “Of course. But, do you think you could spare some water and food? I'm dehydrated and starving.”

  Max looked at Mike, who was still sitting on the table, taking it all in. He was going to ask Mike to go get a sandwich when he realized that Mike could barely walk. He turned back to Josh. “Just a minute, I'll get you my lunch bag.” Max hurried out to the truck, grabbed the bag with his lunch and a water bottle and then headed back to the kitchen. When he entered the room, he heard the tail end of a conversation.

  Josh was saying, “...two thousand and four years.”

  When Max walked in, Mike looked at him. “Max, did you hear that? This guy is over two thousand years old!”

  Max stopped, looked at Josh, and then decided that it wasn't the most outrageous thing he had seen or heard in the past few weeks. Still, it was an awkward shape for his brain to hold. “Two thousand?” Josh nodded and then Max blurted, “What are you?”

  “I am a man, like you.”

  This echoed what Vlad had told Max the previous day. Max said, “So, are you a vampire, too?”

  Josh snorted. He said, “Dude, I don't think there is such a thing. I've been around a long time, and I've never met one.”

  Max wasn't planning on going there, but Mike didn't share that plan. He said, “Dude, you've been killed by a vampire twice. Don't you remember? We watched him rip your throat out, and he just told Maxy here that he killed you again last night. What did you think Vlad was, anyway?”

  Josh scowled, “I just thought all that was bad trips. I had a lot of those. Besides, I generally don't remember dying or the minutes leading up to it.”

  Max said, “It's probably a blessing that you don't.”

  Josh snorted in derision.

  Mike said, “So, if you're not a vampire, how do you do the whole 'getting better after being dead' shtick?”

  Josh looked levelly at Mike. “I cursed Jesus for blocking my customers as he was carrying his cross through the city on his way to be crucified.”

  That was harder to swallow. Mike barked out a short laugh and said with a smile, “Right. God rewarded you with immortality for cursing Jesus, instead of just sending you straight to Hell.”

  Josh didn't even blink. “What makes you think I'm not in Hell?”

  That hit Max pretty hard. He had wondered the same thing himself many times in the last couple of years. It was hard to conceive of a hell that was much worse than what he had been going through. Mike, however, wasn't buying it. He laughed. “I'll grant you that this house would be right at home in Hell, but I can imagine there would be a lot worse things in Hell. Demons, fires, pitchforks up your butt, and such.”

  “Oh, I never said you were in Hell, or that this world is Hell for those who spend their four score here, but there is no other way to describe it for me. I assure you that you would feel the same way I do after thirty-six lifetimes.”

  Josh's words were bad enough for Max, but the sadness and despair behind his eyes were like a cold wind through his soul. Again, his reaction was quite the contrast with Mike's snort. “Yeah, poor guy, I really feel sorry for you. Let's make a deal. I'll swap my problems for yours.”

  Josh looked from Mike to Max and must have seen the empathy in Max's face, because he looked away quickly, as if burned. He said, “Well, dudes, it's been fun, but it's time for me to be on my way. I've got a lot of work to do.”

  Max suddenly didn't want him to leave. He asked, “Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

  Josh looked back to Max. “It took me forty years to pickle my brain to the point that I lost myself, and now, I've got every moment of that time etched into my memory. Believe me, those are memories best remembered through a drug induced haze—if at all. I don't want to live sober with that one minute more than I have to. I figure I can get to the same oblivious place in less than ten years this time.

  Max furrowed his brows. “You make it sound like you can remember everything that happened to you.”

  Josh's face got a faraway look. He nodded and said in a matter of fact tone, “Not much point in cursing someone to live forever if they can't remember it, is there?”

  “Jesus,” said Max before he could stop himself.

  Josh nodded. “Yep, one true rat bastard if there ever was one.” He turned to leave.

  Max put out his hand. “Wait! Don't go!”

  Josh stopped and looked at him with a curious rancor. “What? Thinking you want to tap the knowledge of the ages? Find out what it was like to live through the Black Death? Sip from the fountain of Solomon's wisdom?”

  Max looked down at his hands. “Uh yes, but no. I want you to stay and help me fix up this house.” He looked Josh in the eyes. “I know it won't take any significant fraction of your life, but it is a big job, and I saw the way you worked on it, even when you were a zombie for all other purposes. You are a true artist, and you have a passion for it... and...” Max searched for the words. “And this house deserves the love and attention of someone like you. Like us, she's fallen from grace, and if we can't save ourselves, at least we can save her for a time.”

  Josh's look softened a bit. He said, “Wow, dude. You're really lost, too, aren't you?”

  Max nodded self consciously as if he was revealing a shameful secret.

  “Well, I'll think about it. Right now, I need a serious drink and some disco biscuits.”

  Max said, “Disco biscuits?”

  “Yeah, you know, 'ludes?” No light turned on in Max's head. “Quaaludes?”

  Mike, who had been silently watching the exchange between Josh and Max, jumped in as recognition dawned on Max's face. “Well, we barely
got on the outside of that six pack of Jack last night. Come back to my place, we will get you a shower and a shave and drunker than a skunk. What do you say? If nothing else, you need that shower. You smell so bad, you would knock a buzzard off a shit wagon from thirty paces. Hell, you look even worse.”

  Josh barked out a short laugh. “You've got a deal. The first rule of my life is never to turn down a free drink.”

  Mike laughed back and slapped Josh on the shoulder as they turned to leave. “That is the wisdom of Solomon, my friend.”

  Max asked, “Should we see if Vlad wants to come along?”

  Josh said, “Ha! That should be a joke. Three men: an ancient Jew, a young redneck, and a rock star, ask a vampire if he wants a drink...”

  “Hey, I'm not a redneck!” protested Mike as he followed Max and Josh out to the main hall. When they peeked into the music room, Vlad's attention was still glued to the television.

  “You would think that after being without a body for so long, he would find something a little more active,” said Mike under his breath.

  “Oh, hush,” said Max. He raised his voice. “Vlad?”

  The vampire didn't move. He just hissed. “Shhh!”

  Josh laughed, he said, “Dude! You've just been shushed by a vampire! Bet that's a first for you. It certainly is for me, and that's saying something!”

  Max noticed something on Vlad's cheek. He approached the engrossed vampire carefully. There were streaks of blood running from Vlad's eyes. Mike turned to the others with raised eyebrows and exaggeratedly mouthed “He's crying!”

  At that moment, the sappy closing music for One Life To Love filled the room. Vlad turned the television off with the remote.

  Max briefly wondered how Vlad had known how to use the remote, but forgot his question when Vlad turned to face him. Vlad's face was streaked with blood running from his now solidly blood-red eyes. It was hard to get past the eyes, but Max saw that Vlad's face was a mask of misery.

  Max swallowed. “Vlad, what's going on?”

  Vlad's eyes focused on Max for the first time. It was pretty unnerving. Max got ready to run, but Vlad didn't move. When he spoke, his southern drawl was augmented with a heavy Russian accent. “She has face like Anesha.”