Chapter 25: Queen of the Night

When they got to Scarsdale, Kennedy simply walked towards the taxi stand, Ferinc in tow. She waved him to get in the next available cab. "I'll be a second," she told him.

"Sure, Kennedy."

Kennedy took eight quick steps, grabbed the man who'd been following them and smiled. "Walk with me."

He shook his head, but didn't say anything.

She pulled a ballpoint from her purse's outside pocket and pressed it against his skin. "This contains a quick nerve-toxin. If I inject you with it, you'll have ten seconds and nothing on earth will keep you alive. Walk with me."

She pushed him towards the cab. She made him get in first, then she got in, forcing the man to sit between her and Ferinc. She kept the pen in contact with the bare skin of his arm.

The trip was just five minutes, and it passed in uncomfortable silence. Kennedy waved the cab to stop at the gate. She got out and beckoned to the man. He clambered out of the cab carefully, wary of Kennedy. Kennedy was quite sure he was prepared to run at the least opportunity.

"You didn't do your homework," she told him. "You go back and tell your bosses to look up 'vampire' and 'Queen of the Night.' I haven't had a decent meal in months. By all means, invite him and the rest of your friends to dinner." She smiled. "Yummy!"

She reached into her purse and pulled out something and pushed it into his hands. "And if they wonder how the Queen of the Night can go abroad in the day, have them contemplate this."

She turned him around, applied a foot in his fundament, and sent him flying forward at something approaching a horse's gallop.

He staggered and went down, no doubt receiving multiple bruises and other contusions when he did. Kennedy waved at Ferinc and spoke loudly. "Count Dracula. As always, I'm at your service!" She bowed to him and Ferinc got in the cab and left, while Kennedy walked the two hundred yards to the house.

Mr. Glastonbury met her at the door. "Queen of the Night?"

"There is a mixed bag of kidnappers stalking me. Elementary misdirection. Please, I ask that you and my father leave them alone."

"And why would your father want that?"

Kennedy laughed. "And your precious Watchers Council? What would they say?"

"I quit. I have no idea what they would say."

"Well, as you'll recall, I quit first. Tell my father to stay out of my business, period. Oh, and if he were to ransom me, I'll piddle in his rhododendrons."

It was, Kennedy knew, one of Mr. Glastonbury's weaknesses. He loathed the French and hated the Germans. His stories about the French usually ended with public urination. His stories about the Germans were about rude country bumpkins. On the other hand, he doted on the flower garden.

Mr. Glastonbury sighed. "Annie left for good this time."

"I know."

"She told you about the Council? That they are in the process of melting down?"

"Gosh, I can't imagine why! Century after century, one failure after another! And now three Slayers in a row have no use for them. And then there's me."

"Miss Kennedy, it's worse than you imagine. The rogue slayer woke up. The Watchers Council sent their best recovery teams to fetch her back. At one point the rogue Slayer had her legs around one of their necks, trying to get him to unchain her. Evidently he convinced her that they considered themselves dead when they start a mission. That's not my understanding, but that's what he told her.

"She let the man go. A few minutes later, the leader of the recovery team got too close. She grabbed him; he didn't have the keys to her shackles, but he did have the keys for the armored truck they were holding her in. She left. She had claimed she was the real Slayer, that the rogue had switched bodies with her. It really didn't matter, because she got away from them anyway.

"So, the recovery team went to Los Angeles where the rogue Slayer was reported. Evidently they swore solemn oaths to an ex-Watcher and he understood they were lying. The result was that the rogue Slayer escaped them again. Of course, they were beyond caring, because they ran into a buzz saw named Angelus.

"To make matters worse, then the rogue turned herself into the police. Voluntarily."

"And this means what?"

"Like I said, they're melting down. Violating oaths? How is that different from the evil we're supposed to fighting? How much had they pushed the rogue into being a rogue? Particularly if, given the first chance, she went and surrendered to the police by her own choice?"

Kennedy shrugged. "None of you have impressed me lately."

"And then there's you," he said. "Miss Kennedy, what are you up to?"

She laughed. "I have no intention of telling you. The last time I was grounded. The next time I expect some of those drugs you were talking about. Or one of those retrieval teams that have a little trouble telling the truth. That's simply not going to happen to me. You lost the right to have any say in what's going to happen. All you get is to offer an opinion after the fact, and I may or may not bother to ask for it."

He sighed. "I know. I was hoping to trade on our friendship in days gone past."

"Friendship, Mr. Glastonbury, is based on trust. I can't trust you, I'm sorry. You regularly hid things from me, things I should have known. You connived with my father to put me in prison for a year. A prison where I had to ask permission to go a wedding, for heaven's sake! Where, even at the wedding, I was restricted in my activities. You wouldn't forgive that -- why should I?"

"You're still alive."

"That's a tired argument. You told me yourself that if I'm Chosen it wouldn't matter if I moved to a mountaintop in Tibet."

"You haven't been Chosen. You're past the median age to be Chosen. Every day that passes means it's less likely."

"And that's a better fate? Withering on the vine? And when I'm finished withering, tell me, Mr. Glastonbury -- where will you be? Off watching someone else?"

"I told you, I quit."

"Sure, of course. And when I'm gone, what'cha gonna do? Eh? You make me sick."

She could see that barb, of all of those she'd thrown, had hurt. Well, too bad!

"Miss Kennedy, you have no reason to like or trust me any more; I understand that. I think I acted as best as I knew how, but I've made mistakes before and I'll make mistakes again. Hate me, if you like. I just want you to know that if you need help, if you need advice, I'm here."

She choked. "I can't trust you. Why would I want advice that I can't trust?"

"I swear to you, you can trust me."

"And years ago, when you came here, you said something similar, if you'll recall. What would you have said a year and a half ago? 'Trust me!'" she snorted in derision.

"Some day, Miss Kennedy, you'll find out about higher callings. When you have to choose between loyalties, between people you love. Then you'll learn the bitter truth: those choices eat at you, just as they eat at those affected by your choices."

"Mr. Glastonbury, if I ever have to make that sort of choice, and there's a chance to explain, I'll do it."

"And you think I didn't?"

"Oh, that part about keeping me alive? I told you at the time that was no good. Advice? I'd have welcomed that, but you weren't around. Not to mention, advice is something you can take or leave. Did I have a choice? Was I given a choice? Back seat driving, after the fact? That's just plain wrong, not to mention stupid."

He sighed. "You understand the year got to be a pissing contest? We knew we should end it. After the wedding I stopped agreeing that the time wasn't right. Your father kept expecting you to cave." His smile was wintery sad. "Kennedy, you might not be the Chosen One, but in most ways you might as well be. Slayers don't bend. They might break, but they never bend. They never cry uncle. If the battle goes against them, sometimes they'll withdraw and come back another day. Most times ... well, there's a reason why there have been so many Slayers. They don't quit. You don't quit."

"Well, tell you what. Pipes and his new friend found a nest of vampires in Manhattan. The police tried a couple of times and lost a dozen men. It would have made a bigger splash, but ten of them were lost in a midnight 'payback' raid. Obviously, that didn't go well.

"The majority of these vampires are girls, sixteen or younger. Many of them much younger. They're masquerading as teeny-bopper prostitutes ... obviously their clients are getting more than they bargained for when it comes to getting sucked off. However, the vamps seem to be careful, not killing clients. I mean, who is going to go to the police and say, 'Hey, the fourteen-year-old hooker I paid to give me a blowjob sucked a pint or two of blood instead.'"

Mr. Glastonbury laughed. "And your plan is to wade in there and wipe them out?"

"Well, remember the 'Queen of the Night.' In a couple of days I'll go visit my subjects. I told the kidnapper guy that I was a vampire. I'm sure they'll draw the right conclusions and come prepared. After the dust settles, I'll clean out what's left."

"I thought you said you weren't going vampire hunting again."

"One of the girls who vanished into the nest is a girl I knew at camp. Carnally knew."

She saw him flush, but she ignored it. "So, a few friends asked me if I could do this. I can. I will."

"Just you and how many vampires?"

"Between twenty-five and thirty, I'd guess."

"Guessing, that's good. Why not spend a little more time and be sure?"

"They all wear the same clothes, the same wigs, the same sunglasses, the same scarves. Unless they all come out as a group, which no one has seen them do, there will be no way to tell how many of them there are. I might add that they also have an afternoon shift, who stand in the sunlight and look enticing, but wear the same clothes. That's another reason not to waste any time."

"And how many kidnappers are there?"

"At least two dozen, maybe more. There will be no way to tell until they strike. They are ex-military, a lot of them ex-Russian-military."

"What, do you expect me to tell you how wonderful your plan is? You'll get those men killed, just like you did the king of the gypsies and his men."

"Ah, but I won't do the killing. You told me yourself about situational ethics, about how that's okay."

"Now and then, once or twice. Not a half dozen one time, a dozen or two or four the next."

"Well, that's just too bad. Part of my plan involves warning the kidnappers of the danger they face and how to face it. They will walk in there with the best information I have."

"And that makes it better?"

"You told me about the Slayer's friends. Doesn't she take them with her? Haven't they been at risk, many times? Did she ever not tell them what they'd face? How have they done, in the great scheme of things?"

"I take your point."

"Good. Now take yourself out of my way."

Two days later Helmut Kruger walked into his office and snapped on the light. A dark-haired young woman was sitting in the chair behind his desk. He recognized her at once, of course.

"Afternoon, Helmut," the girl said. "Pull up a chair and take a load off."

"What are you doing here?"

"Sitting in your chair. I came to talk. As I recall, you have a couple of buddies. Why don't you call Freddie, Ivan and Dimitri? I'm a little pressed for time and I don't want to have to explain myself more than once."

He pulled his pistol. "Put your hands on the desk wh..."

He never saw her move, it was just a blur. The pistol banged against the wall, and he looked down at his hand. One finger was crooked, and he was sure his wrist was cracked.

"I said, I came to talk. Now, be a nice little fellow and run and tell those other three I'd like to talk to all of you."

He brought back a half dozen men, all that were available. She wasn't at the desk, and they spread out to search for her.

Two seconds later, more hands were broken or wrists seriously sprained. It was humiliating. She'd hidden behind the door when they'd come in -- a juvenile trick.

"Did you guys ever see that movie, Crocodile Dundee Two? The part where he tells the bad guy that he isn't very good at what he does?" She sat down, this time on the desk instead of behind it.

"Let's check your intelligence; I'm talking information not IQ -- I don't want to embarrass you. Where was I two days ago?"

"At a restaurant in Lower Manhattan," Helmut told her.

"Bzzzt! Half credit. Surely you know which restaurant?"

"Panafilo Gandolfo," Helmut told her. She made a come-on gesture and he shook his head.

"See, like I said, you're not very good. Who owns the restaurant?"

"Who cares?" he told her.

"You should. That's the private dining establishment of the head of one of New York's famous 'Five Families.' Did your man count the New York's finest and Feds watching the place?"

"Police? The Federal police?"

"Yes, those guys. And the city cops."

"No."

"There were some from both. How about the New York City detective captain inside? Was he mentioned?"

Helmut blinked, then stared at Dimitri, whose job the surveillance had been.

"And why are you after me, anyway?"

"Your father is Peter Stuyvesant," Helmut told her. "One of the richest men in the world. He dotes on his daughter."

"I'm his stepdaughter."

"He dotes on you, too."

"That news, Helmut, is more than a year out of date. He and I have had a falling out. I've been disinherited and all of that."

"A self-serving lie," he tried to bluster.

"Sure, sure. No doubt. I come in here and personally beat the crap out of six of you and it's because my father is protective of his daughter. Maybe you should come up with a theory about why I'm no longer going to get mega-million dollar jackpot trust funds?"

Helmut looked around. Everyone was alert and watching her. She jumped to her feet and came down on the desk. There was a sudden splintering crash, and pieces of the desk shot out in all directions. His beautiful cherry wood desk was a memory. He hardened his heart against her.

"Tsk!" the girl said. "I just don't seem to know my strength these days."

She looked at Helmut. "Did your man tell you who I came home with the other night?"

"Count Dracula?" he sneered. "Sure!"

"Actually, I think he really is the gypsy equivalent of a count. Ferinc is his name. Pity your man didn't pass the word who he actually is."

Helmut stared at Dmitri, who had turned pale and was clearly sweating.

"If he left all that out, he probably left out the 'Queen of the Night' stuff as well."

Kennedy looked around, taking in the lack of comprehension. "Vampires, you know. You do need to do some research. In two days I'm going to a theater in lower Manhattan. If you want me, bring your best. Guns? Guns just piss off vampires! Wooden stakes work, if you put them through a vampire's heart! Did I mention that plastic just pisses vampires off? Swords are good, too. Lop off a vampire's head and it's dead! Holy water is like acid; crosses or any blessed object are painful. Sunlight? Lethal!

"Or of course, you can just chuck the whole thing and move someplace safe. New York state isn't safe for the likes of you. Not Scarsdale, not the City. None of it."

She jumped again, this time slamming into the particle board ceiling of the room. She went through it cleanly, straddled two ceiling joists, spun and ran. It took ten seconds before the first pistol fired and it was about as close as they got, a hundred yards away. She landed on a car outside, startling two men who'd been washing it. She smashed into the car door, yanking it off the hinges, and used the door to knock both men flat. Then she was across the road of the industrial park and gone.

Helmut Kruger looked at the team, now sans Dimitri. "Our security has been compromised," he said flatly. "The girl knows who we are, where we are." He gestured at the hole in the ceiling.

One of the men tentatively raised a hand.

"What, Sergei?" demanded Helmut, still furious with anger.

"We had special companies in the KGB that were on call. They were armed like you report she suggested. Wooden stakes, swords, crucifixes and holy water. Many times when they were called in, the carnage was terrible. Sometimes as many as half of the men of the company were killed. To kill one or two of these monsters."

"One or two could kill forty or fifty men?" Helmut asked in disbelief.

"Sir, a hundred men. They are very tough. Bullets don't stop them. Oh, if you shoot them often enough, you can knock them down. But if you don't kill them, they get back up and keep coming ... only they are very angry."

Helmut waved at Osgood, their new head of intelligence. "Those things she said."

"She was at the restaurant. I can't confirm the New York detective captain was there, but he is a known associate of the girl. The other families of New York bosses are mildly contemptuous of the woman who runs her family now from that restaurant. She is a teenager and wishes to take them legitimate.

"She is young, but has several men from her grandfather's generation who back her. Since they have taken themselves out of the picture, none of the other New York families say they care." He grinned slightly. "However, none have had the temerity to move into the vacuum.

"There are federal spies on the restaurant, plus city watchers.

"She mentioned gypsies. Ferinc is a boss gypsy. It is said that he had the previous king of the gypsies killed -- that it was this girl that did the killing. We sent two men to this camp the girl has been in, run by the gypsies. Neither man has been seen since."

He nodded at Sergei. "I cannot say anything about her being a vampire. There are a number of strange things in her past. Almost two years ago, some men came against her father's house, ostensibly to kidnap him. Except he wasn't there, and had never been planning on being there. Just the girl was present at a party for her friends. It is a matter of public record that four policemen, five guards and two women were killed that night at the house. One of the women was the wife of a major Mafia figure. The other was the lover of our target.

"Men and women died or were injured until the attackers reached the room the girl was in. Officially, they realized their mistake and withdrew, with no attempt to take the girl."

Everyone in the room understood secondary targets. They might have made the mistake of missing their target, but they would never have left a secondary target behind.

"Unofficially," Osgood continued, "she destroyed the attackers."

"Well," Helmut announced. "Guess what? Going after the daughter of a billionaire is going to be hazardous. Is anyone surprised?"

Raul Levi spat. "Dangerous? She ripped the door off an armored Mercedes. She whacked us with it. The day you can duplicate that feat with your bare hands, you can talk to me of dangerous."

Helmut sniffed. "So, you are afraid of a teenage girl?"

Raul laughed. "She has a history of everyone who goes after her, including you, getting their heads handed to them."

"I'm still alive!" Helmut yelled.

"By sufferance," Raul told him. "The rest of us know that; you'd better remind yourself a few times. She's invited us to a place. She's told us that there are a number of these vampires there, waiting for us. Sergei says the KGB would lose dozens and dozen of men trying to put down one of these things. We can't afford to go after a nest of who knows how many of these things.

"We have an alternate target, this Mary Robinson. Her father is merely a millionaire five hundred times over instead of several thousand times. We take her and keep our heads down. This other thing is too dangerous."

Helmut looked around the room. "So, a teenage girl sneaks in and you all piss your pants. She gives us an engraved invitation. Sergei -- tell them. Tell them what is located at that address!"

"A brothel. There are a number of young prostitutes who work there. The exact number is impossible to tell, as they all dress alike. Perhaps twenty-five. I sent tovarich..." he stopped and swallowed, "young Ivanov to test the waters. One of the young women gave him a blow job for fifty dollars, which is the going rate. He said she was fourteen or fifteen, a weak, helpless teenager. Nothing untoward happened."