February 2nd

“I can’t believe we’re out here in ten degree weather on a weeknight because of a tip from Tommy-freaking-Greco,” Teresa complained, adjusting the blanket around her to increase her body heat. “Are you sure he’s not messing with us? Because he’s known for doing that.”

“Tommy may be a knucklehead with no self-preservation skills, but he has inside information,” Marcus reasoned, trying to ignore the cramps in her lips. He had been in a crouched-down position for the past hour, and his body was getting cranky. Teresa’s complaints weren’t helping the issue. Thankfully, Joaquim was still being a good sport. “Plus, if we find out that he’s been deceiving us, we will just show up at his place with an arrest warrant. I’m sure Rubinstein would love seeing Tommy in a holding cell.”

Rubinstein would probably find a way to get all three cops promoted, Teresa believed. The prosecutor had been after the business owner for at least five years, but Tommy Greco had a great lawyer and connections, he always found a way not to have his case go to trial. She was pretty sure Jenks kept a master list of all of the charges he wanted to slap on him when the occasion arrived.

Although he was keeping his opinions to himself, Joaquim was also a bit skeptical about Tommy’s intel. But that was most likely because it was almost eleven at night, and he was crammed inside a minivan with two other people, participating in a stake-out with the purpose of identify every people who walked in and out of Tommy’s second business—a small, upscale lounge. It wasn’t official business; none of their captains knew about it.

Tonight was the perfect night for a stake out: although it was freezing outside, the area around the lounge was relatively quiet. Mike's usual non-mob- affiliated patrons weren't there. Plus the lounge was located in an area in Malikan City with a few inhabitants; the residences congregated about a few blocks down from the place. There were no bus stops, or train stations, at this time of night, save for a couple of bars down the street; business was non-existent.

The cops were parked about a block away from the bar, facing the front, spying through dark, tinted windows. They made sure to remain in the dark; the only things that were turned on were their phones (in their pockets with all ringtones silenced) and Teresa's surveillance equipment (why she had surveillance equipment, Marcus and Joaquim were too scared to ask).

"There's Velasquez’s people," Teresa announced, writing notes in her notepad. She knew most of the names of Velasquez’s henchmen; she wanted to match the name with the person by taking a photo, but she was paranoid about being caught. Vampires could be extremely observant when they wanted to be.

"Truck pulling in at eight o'clock," Marcus whispered. Soon, the detectives plus the sergeant looked on together as the vehicle stopped at the side of the casino and its crew started unloading the goods that suspiciously smelled like fresh blood. "That must be their stash. Quality human blood."

Joaquim scrunched up his blood in disgust; the smell of such a vital liquid was overwhelming and not in the way he appreciated. After all these years, he still couldn’t get over the fact that vampires only consumed blood. He watched as the gangsters opened the back door to the truck and pulled out three barrels and rolled them into the casino up a ramp. “Where did they get so much blood? That had to belong to at least, a hundred people. From the hospital?”

Marcus shrugged. “Personally, I wouldn’t trust any blood from the hospital. You don’t if they’re tainted with hepatitis or some other crazy virus.”

“They got it from Velasquez gang. They operate this whole underground business dedicated to shipping large quantities of human blood,” Teresa explained.

“But why humans?” Joaquim asked. “Why not animals? Wouldn’t that be easier? They could get away with it.”

"They're already getting away with it," Marcus mumbled under his breath. "Human blood is apparently a delicacy—Hey, Joaquim, got any updates on Edwin or Parker’s cases?”

Joaquim bit his lip. He hadn’t had much of an opportunity to reach to Edwin. Edwin had been pretty evasive as of yet, but thankfully Parker had no qualms about telling Joaquim about the investigation. And so far, it wasn’t going to great. The first one—Lucien Dalca—was on hold until his body was found, and the second one—Pretty Boy Matt—was also on hold because of a possible suicide.

“It’s not looking good,” Joaquim admitted.

“They don’t have any leads?”

“Parker said that he has a good idea of who did it, but didn’t have the evidence. Not even enough to arrest someone.”

“What did Edwin say?”

Joaquim shrugged. “He’s been acting odd lately. Thought it would be best to stay in the clear.”

“Hey, Teresa, what’s up with him?”

“Who?”

“Your husband.”

“We’re no longer residing under the same roof,” Teresa grumbled. “Therefore, I don’t know what’s up with him.”

Marcus and Joaquim glanced at each other and silently agreed not to delve on the sensitive topic.

“What about Rubinstein?” Marcus asked, quickly changing the subject. “There’s no warrant for an arrest or anything?”

“I don’t think he’s gonna pursue unless he has concrete evidence,” Joaquim said. “That man has enough on his plate.”

“Edwin and Parker can find the evidence,” Teresa said. “They just choose to ignore it.” She sighed. “I wonder if Manuel’s people knows about this?”

“Of course they do, but they can’t do anything about it,” Marcus replied. “You know they’re bounded by the Pact.”

The Pact. The covenant. The Deal—a hundred-page plus document that contained some good old-fashioned bribery and back hand deals. All to keep the peace between the human and the supernatural world. The Pact of 1967 allowed the supernatural, particularly those in covens, to handle their business just as long as they didn’t explicitly involve humans. It was a half-assed truce more than anything in Marcus’ opinion, but it was going strong for fifty years so he couldn’t say it wasn’t working.

Or maybe he could.

“Oh, and look who decided to show up?” Teresa announced. “The Atkins and the Dalca’s—I guess Tommy knew what he was talking about all along.”

“Told ya.”

***

There were times when Tommy Greco, the universal informant, wished he lived an honest life. Absent of drugs, alcohol, mobs, guns, and numerous run-ins with the cops. Just him working in a respectable profession, maybe with a wife and a couple of babies bouncing around. It had been a while since he had felt this way. He often considered the white picket fence life to be boring. He was a high-action kind of a guy; he loved living on the edge.

But perhaps, one of these days, he should seriously think about settling down. Tommy knew that day was coming; he could feel it, especially tonight. Tonight, would be the best time to be stuck in the suburbs, getting ready for bed; then, he wouldn't have to worry about the forty-odd people who lived on the opposite side of the law, squeezed into his lounge’s private party room for the night.

Tommy should have declined the request, especially with everything that was happening. The Albanisi was going to find out, if they hadn't already, and they were going to demand an explanation from him, which he couldn't exactly provide since he had promised the Dalca's and the Atkins's that he would keep his mouth shut.

To top it off, he wasn't even making that much money tonight. The party guests were not interesting in any of the drinks he had stocked. They were only consuming the concoctions that they had brought in that suspiciously resembled blood—Tommy refused to believe it was blood. He wanted the rumors to remain just that.

The party, intended by thirty or so people, was pretty uneventful for a change, and Tommy couldn't complain. Uneventful meant that he didn't have to worry about mob drama or the police, who were still breathing down his neck. He kept an eye out for the young lady wandering around the room. He had never seen her before, but someone here must know her; the party was invite-only. Despite this, she couldn't hold anyone's attention. She wasn't really associated with the Dalca's and the Atkins'. Tommy could tell by the way she awkwardly tried to spark a conversation, and nearly gagged at the sight of people digesting the blood-like liquid like it was water.

Tommy had thought about approaching the woman. She seemed lost and to top it off, she was attractive. Maybe he could get a number out of her or, if he played his cards right, perhaps something more. But in the end, he didn't pursue anything; something told him it wouldn't be worth it.

He shrugged and reminded the bartender to clean the counter. The last thing he needed was to explain to his patrons tomorrow why there was caked blood everywhere.

When Tommy looked up again, he caught her staring at him with an unreadable expression. He thought about calling her over—she now had an expectant look on her face—but instead, he just waved. She waved back then went on her way. Towards Caesar, who, for the first time tonight, was sitting at the table alone.

Tommy sighed.

***

“Good evening,”

Tommy nearly dropped his glass of brandy when he noticed a young woman sitting in the stool next to him. It was the same one, from an hour ago. She looked tired, but she tried her best to hide it with a wide, toothy smile.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, not understand exactly why she was grinning; he hadn’t done anything—Maybe she scored with Caesar?

Which, to be honest, wasn't something she should be smiling about. He shuddered just thinking about it.

"Evening," Tommy muttered. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I guess..." Sam said with a shrug. She turned around and watched as everyone was poured another glass of wine. It couldn't be wine. It looked too thick to be red wine. She quickly turned around. "Are they... drinking blood?"

"Careful, dearie, they can hear you." And to prove his point, a couple of guests glanced at Sam, judging her. "What the hell are you doing in a party like this?"

Sam has taken back by the abrupt question; it was a question she had been asking herself for the past hour.

She was supposed to attend this party with Tiffany. At first, Sam had considered not showing up, but then, a couple of days of ago, she recalled one of the last conversations she had with her roommate. The invitation had been hard to obtain, Tiffany had said. It wasn’t something to miss. She was here because Tiffany had convinced the host of the part to put her on the list, only so Sam could see what Tiffany did on her free nights. She had always known Tiffany had been involved in an odd crowd; but this, she wasn’t expecting.

“I needed to go somewhere. Get out. Tired of being home.” She glanced at the row of bottles, neatly lined behind the bar. She hoped to get the bartender’s attention, but he didn’t look her way. “I need a shot of tequila.”

Tommy laughed and shook his head. "Not around these people, you don't," and then further explained when he was met with confused eyes. "These people ain’t normal. Ain’t Good Samaritans. It's complicated— How did you get an invite, anyway?"

"My friend."

"Friend?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, my friend, Tiffany, invited me as a guest. She used to, um... work with, uh... them." She nudged her head in the Atkins’ direction. “I think?”

Tommy looked at the family then back at Sam, absolutely stunned. "Holy shit. You mean that dead girl from at Millionaire’s?”

Sam nodded.

Tommy raised both eyebrows. “Oh, well, okay. So, that man whose lap you were sitting on, your friend worked for him. In many ways," Tommy said, and then added, "He seems interested in you."

"Is that bad?" Sam asked.

"Messing with married men generally is," Tommy replied, but then felt bad for making the poor girl so nervous. She honestly had no idea what she was doing. "But he'll pay you well... enough."

Sam gulped and began to sweat, realizing that perhaps she should have stayed home after all. "I'm not interested."

"You sure?" Tommy asked. He chuckled when he received a heated glare. "I don't think he took it that way. He's interested in you and given that he's, well... him, he's gonna get what he wants."

Sam felt sick. She wasn't interesting in taking the next step with the man who called himself Caesar. She had just been flirting; it had been such a long time since she had done so. He was handsome and seemed pleasant enough, but that was all it was.

Sam watched Tommy as he ordered a glass of water and handed it to her. She thanked him, and then quietly asked, “What happened to her?”

“Who?”

“Tiffany. What happened to her?”

Tommy sighed. “It’d be best if you didn’t know the whole story. Don’t want you to be in a deeper hole.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your friend, Tiff—Fuck!”

Tommy fell forward against the bar, hitting his head, from the force of the explosion. It was loud; it happened to quick, and for a moment, blacked out.

He was able to regain conscious sometime later. He opened his eyes, staring down at the dark wood of the bar and closed them again, trying to alleviate the stinging in his ear. He groaned and covered his ears, hoping to silence the ringing in his ears. His mind was trying to wrap around what he just happened. He opened his eyes—destroyed, his entire lounge was destroyed. If it wasn’t on fire, the furniture was obliterated into pieces. Smoke was everything. Everyone was slowly moving around, still dazed. It was bone-chilly. Tommy could feel the brisk air rushing through the missing, destroyed windows and doors.

Tommy needed to get out of here. He carefully slumped off his stool and headed behind the bar, where it would be safer. He quickly glanced behind him and stopped breathing.

Behind him, a masked army, about twenty-strong, dressed in all back stormed through the broken store front windows and thick smoke with their guns glazing at all of the guests. An unfamiliar voice from behind the army ordered everyone to stand down, but the order was ignored as all of the guests, including Caesar Atkins and Ruslana Dalca, drew out their own weapons, opening their mouths wide to reveal their long, sharp fangs.

That was the sight that snapped Tommy out of his trance. Vampires. Fuck, they were real. He was seeing them with his own eyes. They weren’t apart of some sick, kinky club or whatever. Vampires. He couldn’t believe it; he couldn’t accept it—he didn’t have time to think about it for when he took another step, the shooting began.

“Get down!” Tommy shouted to anyone who happened to be near him; he wasn’t going to check on anyone. He needed to come out of this ambush alive.

The right thing to do was call 911, but the rational thing to do was not call anyone. Calling 911 meant that the cops would come and demanded an explanation from him about why he allowed a well-known crime family to party in his lounge. Calling 911 meant that he would most likely get arrested and head back to prison. He refused to do another prison stint; he would rather die.

But then again, it wouldn’t matter because thanks to the bomb and the gunshots, someone would have noticed already and someone would have called the authorities already. He was fucked either way—Just fucking great.

Tommy was on the move again, only to stop when he noticed the bartender, slumped on his side, ridden with bullets, dead. He swallowed, pushing down the urge to nauseate and quickly grabbed his Beretta from a drawer underneath the bar. He planned to bolt but then remembered that Sam was still here, crouching behind one of the bar, whimpering as the shooting continued.

Tommy looked at her. He should leave her. After all, coming here was her own damn fault. He should just get out of here, take whatever money was in the register and in the safe, hop in his car and drive to goddamn Mexico.

But unfortunately, Tommy had a conscience of some sort, but Sam remained on his mind. Despite her horrible judgement, she didn’t exactly deserve to be in this mess. She was just a foolish girl who’d thought it was a wonderful idea to get mixed up with a bunch of mobsters who all just happened to have fangs—once again, the hell?

Tommy shook his head and finally came to a decision: he had to get Sam out of there before the situation became much worse. Fuck my life, he thought as he grudgingly when to retrieve Sam.

Sam didn’t fight him as he manhandled her through the tight crawlspace between the bar and the wall. She complied with his harsh order to her stay down and remain silent; she waited as Tommy opened the small floor door and only yelped when Tommy grabbed her own and practically pushed her door the hole. He quickly followed behind here before shutting the door after himself.

For the next few moments, neither person said a word as they listened intently to the commotion above. Tommy could hear his furnishing being destroyed, slot machines being tossed around; he could hear the intruders painting the casino walls with bullets, the wails and screams, the shouting and another grenade setting off.

He coughed as the thick smoke entered the crawl space. He turned to Sam who was on the floor in a fetal position, quietly crying. “We can’t stay here,” he whispered, wincing as the gunshots became louder.

Tommy could tell the action had reached the bar area when he heard a loud thump from above, like someone had just been tossed onto the floor. He motioned Sam to follow into a dimly-lit tunnel, which she did, thankfully, without making a sound.

Sometime later, Tommy stopped at the end of the tunnel, standing in front of the door that would lead them to freedom, to a dark alley. He pushed opened the usually jammed shot door, and took his a deep breath, thanking his lucky stars that no one had noticed them. He turned to Sam, who was still trembling, looking like she had been through Hell and back with her runny make up, dingy dress and missing stiletto.

“You okay?”

Sam nodded, eyes downcast, brimming with tears.

Tommy grabbed Sam by the shoulders so that her attention was only him, not the floor. “Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “If anyone asks, you weren’t here. You can’t say you were him. You ain’t seen or heard nothing.” He deeply exhaled. “I’ll think of an alibi.”

He didn’t have a choice. He knew if the cops found Sam and she talked, he was fucked for life. He knew that once the dust settled, he and Sam were going to be called in as witnesses. And chances were, a trail was going to happen, and he was to going to testify against mobsters. He wasn’t suicidal.

“But what if the police—“

“If you say one word, you’re gonna get hunted down and suffer the same fate as your friend.” Tommy warned. “Is that what you want?”

Sam shook her head.

“Get a cab, and get the fuck out of here.” Tommy quickly reached into his pocket, pulled out a few bills and slapped them into Sam’s trembling hands. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look back. Don’t fucking come back. Do you understand me?”

“But—“

“For fuck’s sake, go!”

END OF PART ONE