Omsk, Russia. Febuary 6th, 2005
Chance looked round the pub. It was a quaint thing, rather reminiscent of the pub’s of England and yet…there it was. There was a significant difference that he just seemed unable to put his finger on. Something that didn’t seem quite right…He shrugged it off. No use worrying about something you don’t know, after all. For the most part the place was empty, but there were a few Russians scattered around in ones and twos.
He ordered a drink from the bar; a pint. No vodka tonight; he needed to concentrate. The contact he had been planning on meeting had yet so show himself. After being in Omsk for almost a week now, he was beginning to wonder whether he was even going to turn up at all-
Wait a minute! Isn’t that…? Chance’s eyes had been sweeping the pub, but had settled on a young man sitting at a table alone, obviously not Russian. No drink sat in front of him, and no-one sat next to him. The seats to his left and in front where empty, and he gazed ahead lost in thought. An about average height and medium build, and there was the head that looked too big for the body, the eyes that evaluated everything they settled on. Yes…It is!
Chance made his way over in amazement, almost entranced. Standing next to the table but not sitting yet, he took a moment to compose himself, then broke the silence. “Never thought I’d see you here.” He kept his accent firmly British, which made it seem horribly out of place, as it always did when not in England.
The man turned and looked. He seemed as though to tell Chance where to shove it, but then recognition dawned and his face opened up. “Felix! What the bugger are you doing here?” He slid out of his chair and pumped Chance’s arm up and down. “Here, here, take a seat, please.” He sat back down. Dropping into one of the empty chairs, Chance took a swig and involuntarily flinched. Bloody Hell! What’d the Ruskies put in this? The man, Peter, smiled at Chance’s discomfort. “Not quite like they make it back home, right?”
“God, I thought they only made vodka strong. Can I get you one?”
Pete shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Have you tried the vodka here? S’nuffin like the stuff we’d get Mike’s brother to buy us. It’d rip the back of your throat off and burn through your stomach.” He paused, then couldn’t hold himself in anymore. “Christ, man. It’s been ages! How you doing?”
“Well…so-so. I’m sure you understand.”
Pete’s face went dark with concern. “Ah, Jesus. I forgot. Sorry. Hope I didn’t-“
Chance waved it off, downed some more of the beer. “No, don’t worry. Let’s just change the subject.”
“Sure, sure. So, what brings you to the land of Russia?”
Chance took his time answering, choosing his words carefully. “I’m…looking for someone.”
“Really? Found someone you have.”
“What, you getting all Yoda on me now?” Pete threw his head back and laughed. Chance let out a wry smile, forcing down another mouthful but never taking his eyes of his companion.
“Man, I’d forgotten how much you used to make me laugh. Haven’t laughed like that in quite some time.” He seemed almost…sorry for a moment, then appeared to have remembered something that instantly cheered him up. A ghost of a grin flickered across his face, one of those grins that was smiling at the world’s expense.
Chance leaned in with a look of concern on his face. “Past few years been tough, eh?”
Pete gave a faraway look, eyes completely unfocused. The smile returned, only stronger. “Something like that. If only you knew.”
“Oh, I think you’d be surprised.” He paused, then in a low voice he said: “I’m sorry, Pete.”
Peter snapped back to focus on Chance. “Why? What for?”
“For this.” Chance gave Pete long enough to look at him and form a frown on his face, for those evaluating eyes to show confusion, then leapt up and backhanded his old friend with the beer glass with all the force he could summon. Pete went sprawling on the floor and the glass shattered, leaving Chance clutching a broken handle. Tossing the handle to one side, he came out of his seat, pinning Pete to the floor and withdrawing a stake.
Peter began to laugh, despite his predicament. “My, my, mate. You have come a long way.” He eyed the stake carefully.
“Could say the same for you, mate.”
“True, true.” Peter’s face morphed and shifted; the fangs slid out and the brow shifted. Chance let out a sigh. It was as he feared; Pete was a vampire. The barman, who had been reaching under the bar for a shotgun, took one look at the creature that Pete had become then let out a startled yelp and ran out the back door. “So what now? You gonna kill an old friend?” He tried to give the old innocent-eyes, but their feral yellow and the fangs just didn’t bring it off.
“My friend is dead. You, you I have no remorse staking.” Chance was remorseless. There would be time for grieving over his dead friend later. Now he had to put him out his misery.
He brought the stake down. Hard and fast. But just before it reached, Peter shouted out. “No! No! Wait! I know who killed your parents.”
Chance’s arm stopped, the point just pressing in to Pete’s chequered shirt. “You’re lying.” He said, looking deep into the vampire’s eyes.
“No, I’m not, I swear.”
“And I should take your word for it why?”
“Because if you don’t you’ll spend the rest of your mortal, pitiful life wondering if I was telling the truth or not.” Chance let the insults pass. For now.
But the vampire had a point. How typical of him to find the counterpoint to Chance’s argument. “Fine. Talk.”
“Not until you give me some guarantee you won’t stake me as soon as I’ve told you.” Ah, now that’s the, using the term loosely, 'man' I remember. Always keeping an eye out for his own skin.
“Okay, play it that way. Fine by me. I have plenty of methods to make you squeal.” Chance reached over to a sharp piece of beer glass. He took a bottle of holy water from his pocket, noting that Pete flinched at just the sight of it, and dipped the sharp end of the glass into the blessed liquid. Putting the bottle on the floor, he turned to the vampire pinned beneath him. “Last chance.”
“You’re far too soft, Felix. You won’t hurt a fly.” Despite his words, Pete's voice shook slightly and he seemed increasingly worried.
Chance gave a grim smile. “Well, I’ve changed too.” He began slicing into the vampire’s cheek with the glass. It cut like a hot knife through butter. Blood began running and the skin sizzled and popped. Peter screamed. And again, and again, and again….
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.” The cry was desperate, and painful.
Peter was still on the floor, but Chance was standing up over him, letting holy water trickle through his fingers onto the vampire. His face was a collection of scars and burns that would make even other creatures of the night flinch. With arms held out at his sides, and metal chair legs driven through them to keep the vamp on the floor, he looked like some bizarre portrayal of Jesus on the cross. Pools of blood were running across the floor.
More chair legs were in his chest, five in fact, but these Chance had soaked in holy water first. He had thought of heating them up, but didn’t know where to find a fire. He was having to trickle the holy water now because he was running out.
“Go ahead.” Pulling up a stool, Chance sat down.
The vampire in Pete's body coughed a few times. Blood began trickling out the corner of his mouth. “Okay, okay, can I have somebody to drink first?” He spoke with a slight whistle where Chance had removed his fangs.
“Rot in hell.”
“Might as well be…” Pete muttered. Chance interrupted by reaching for his stake. “Right, fine. No blood. Where do you want to start?”
Although Chance wanted to cut right to the chase, he knew it would be foolish to do so. He had to get the vampire talking the truth first. “When where you sired?”
“Uuhh…’bout a week after you took off, I think. Yeah, that’s right.” It appeared to be honest. Chance through caution to the wind and decide to trust it. “When I was introduced to my sire, he told me about your parents.”
“Go on.”
“Well, his sire, the leader of our gang, fell in love with this bird. Oblique, I think she called herself. Yeah, that was it. Dead quite, bit of a loner if you ask me. But ouch, was she fit. Oh yeah…” The vamp trailed off and half-closed his eyes, a perverse smile on his face.
“Back to the story.” Chance growled.
“Sorry.” Pete looked as if awakened from a pleasant dream. “So, this bird, Oblique, she was out one night, hunting as you do. Smelt blood, went to investigate and met one nasty piece of work. And I mean nasty.” Pete looked somewhat disturbed by just mentioning it.
Chance leaned close. “Who?”
“The only people she told was my sire and his sire, and they too terrified to even tell me his name. Wusses…But apparently this guy was powerful. Very powerful. Oblique said he was the most powerful vamp on Earth, but I doubt that. Probably in the top ten nonetheless. She could feel the power radiating off him from a mile away. Now, I’m not talking your average vampire here, but something else. We’re getting into the realms of demi-gods. Hell, my sire was scared of him, and he-”
Chance cut him off before he had a chance to go into detail. “All very interesting, but what’s it got to do with me?”
“I’m getting there, I’m getting there. When Oblique got to the scene, she found a couple just getting to middle-aged and this guy. They were already dead and mostly drained, but according to Oblique neither looked like they had been in pain, more like asleep with their eyes open. The guy offered her the scraps. Bit old and tough between the teeth, apparently…” Chance dived of his stool to deliver a knee to Pete’s groin. He screamed long and hard, his back arching off the floor in pain.
“Watch your mouth, bloodsucker.” He whispered right in his ear. “That’s my parents you’re talking about.” Chance leant back a bit.
“You’ve become a right old bastard, you know that?” Pete’s gaze was approving. Chance felt disgusted, and leaned in even more, pressing down into the groin with all his weight.
When Pete looked like he might pass out, he withdrew his knee and straightened up. “And how do I know all this ain’t some crock of shit you’ve cooked up in the hopes you’re getting out of this alive. Or undead, at least.”
“What good is it gonna do me by lying to you? You’ll know if I am anyway…” The vamp was right. It had tried lying about an hour ago. Chance had pried out it's left eye for it.
“Where’s Oblique now?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t!” Pete cried at his look. “But if anybody does, it’d be my sire. He was mad about Oblique, not that he’d ever let Darren know…” That was his sire’s sire; their gang leader.
“And where’s your sire?”
“Last time I knew…Madrid.”
“Madrid?!” Chance was taken aback. “That’s on the other side of the world! What’re you doing here?”
“Me and him, we didn’t see eye to eye.” That wasn’t surprising. Pete had never been one for following orders.
“Well, look on the bright side. You’ll never have that problem again.” Chance withdrew the stake. Pete’s one remaining eye bulged wide.
“But…mate…I told you…” He stuttered.
“And now I’m going to stake you. It’ll be the best thing I ever did as your friend.” With his weight behind him, the stake slid in easily, and hid friend crumbled away. The metal poles remained behind, dug in to the floor, as did the rivers of blood. Chance stood back up and turned his back on them, walking away. So. Madrid, then.
Better get a plane ticket…
Madrid, yeah right. Chance thought, as he cruised through the streets of LA. The Harley rumbled beneath him as he throttled the engine. Gliding smoothly down a road, he decelerated and banked to the left for a turn, then accelerated again. Around him, the buildings and lights of L.A. flashed by; the bustling mass of humans, well, mostly humans, out for a good night. They laughed and cried and hugged and cheered in bars, restaurants, theatres, casinos, the list was endless. But Chance ignored it all. For now, he was thinking about the past.
Bloody bloodsucker was lying to me. Won’t be surprised if he did so all along. His sire was in Cairo, never been to Spain. And when he heard of someone looking for him, he fled. Finally caught up with him in Bangkok. He didn’t know where Oblique was, but had met someone who had run into her in Brazil. Off to Brazil. Guess what? Oblique’s not there. The vamp had met her in New York. By the time I got there, she’s buggered off to LA. Fan-bloody-tastic.
Chance sighed. It seemed like he had come round in a great big circle. Russia, Europe, India, South America, North America. All he had to do was take a flight back to Russia. It was tempting, but what was the point in wasting the money?
For the most part, he hadn’t found out a bloody thing in his ‘quest’. But there’d been a few little titbits. He’d often heard references to ‘The Brotherhood’ when he’d mentioned old and powerful vampires. Whatever that was, the younger vamps were determined to stay out their way. Wouldn’t even dare say a word about them other than occasionally whispering the name or give a warning. If it wasn’t the fact that the vampire he was looking for was probably a member of this ‘Brotherhood’, he’d find it amusing.
Because Chance was more or less certain that’s what he was looking for now. The description fitted the vague one that Peter had given and the more detailed one provided by his sire. And the closer he had drawn to LA, the more the rumours of an old vampire living there had increased. It was like he was working on a giant puzzle, and the last piece was Oblique. She had been his confirmation, the missing bloody link. If only he had a name…
Not for the first time in his hunt, Chance spent a moment wondering if it was all worth it. But only for a moment.
He headed for the less populated areas, the areas you’d rather not be seen in if you could avoid it. That was where he’d find his prey, and that was where he’d find information.
Note: Incase you're wondering, I changed the name 'Steven' for 'Peter'
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