Chapter 11: Malleus - Hammer

September 14^th 1993

Marco and I strolled into the Sand-Dune hotel about 9 PM that night. I could feel an electric ozonitic crispness to the air about me, alive with possibility.

I settled into a booth in the lounge off the casino and Marco curled up at my feet. I closed my eyes. I came unstuck. I went away.

Vegas pulses at night with a sexual beat. Warm bodies in tiny clothes dance on stages to tribal rhythms. Businessmen from Pacoima prowl for strange pussy. Nurses from Nashua feel set loose and have one drink too many for their marriage.

Its like a warm bath, it washes over me and I roll down into it, let it take me in, own me. I feel the power flow out of me like a tide, and pure sexual heat rolls back in. I have a simple plan to take Vincent's pawns away from him.

On the casino floor, Kelly Terriby from Anaheim turns to the man next to her, pulls down her panties, and says. "Spot me $1000 for craps, and you can have the box these cum in." He nods and they kiss.

The croupier watches them and unzips his trousers. The pit boss comes running over, but stops with a sly smile and caresses the ass of a passing cocktail waitress. She drops her tray and pops her tits out of the tiny costume for him.

A wave washes through the casino. People fuck on the floor. A janitor sodomizes one of the cashiers on a pile of chips.

The wave grows. There are hundreds of rooms at the Sand Dunes. The wave builds power. It washes over the rooms, through the parking lot. Dave the parking attendant gets blown by a woman in a Bentley. After a few minutes, I relax again, and let more out. I let go more power, I let it out farther, more.

I can feel the whole city now. New Sodom. I will show you my power Vincent. You think you're ready for me? You're not and I know you're not. No one is ever ready for this. No one.

I can feel them out there. Dozens of them. Minds that are different, unbound. Vincent is there, sensing that something is wrong. Up in the tower at the Illusions, I smell the panic from his thralls. They're wrapped up in a sea of flesh around them, coming at them in naked waves, and they're not immune to the lure.

There are a million and a half people in Las Vegas. Most of a million not too far from the strip. More than San Francisco. More power. More freedom. Less restraint.

He's shouting orders, making phone calls, directing his thoughts carefully. Then he feels the first wave pass over him. His hotel is three miles from here, three miles. He thought he was safe from me, up in his tower of glass. The Carter Dawson he met once is long gone, replaced with a monster. A fucking monster.

The muscle twins I had seen back in July were with their big gal, Rita. They're downstairs at the Illusions. They drag her screaming up on a craps table, and guys begin to line up. She dies triple penetrated, air tight, choking to death on cock. Her ecstasy, her agony, her darkness wash outward and feed the crowd. Just like her, the skinny gay guy dies choked out while his lover sodomizes him on the casino floor.

The cops drive in, lights screaming onto the strip. Night clubs out, hurling themselves into the writhing, fucking, sucking, cumming, pissing crowd. They go down naked, howling in pleasure, their billy clubs become Johhny and Jane clubs.

A telepath named Chris, a pederastic fuck from down in the vault at the Landmark works his way out and climbs up on the side of the external elevator. As it rises, he jacks off, he cums and plunges down to the sidewalk below, his brains spread out like a raspberry delight on the banquet table. Vincent can feel his lights wink out one by one. He's very angry now. "Where are you, you FREAK?" He screams. "Come face me, you miserable FUCK! I'll kill you! Where ARE you?"

I let him rage. Soon there's fifteen of them left, then five. Then just Vincent's main crew up in his penthouse at the hotel, protected by Vincent's raw power, and only that. He can feel the pressure pressing in on him, wave after wave of sex and death. Lynn arrives in Vincent's suite. "He's coming for us." She says, and goes to the bar to make a drink.

"You don't think I know that, you fucking piece of shit cunt?"

"Don't worry Vincent. You can take him." She smiles and takes a gun out of her purse. It's a small Baretta 9mm. "You fight him, tie him up ... and I'll put a bullet in his head."

Vincent smiles at her, a tight angry smile. He's out of other ideas. This is not how things are supposed to go. I can feel his sweat from here.

"Besides, Vincent ... he's just culling the weak ones."

Vincent nods and pours himself a shot of JD from the bar. "I'll fuck his fucking corpse."

...

"Howdy Larry." Says the guy at the aviation desk.

"Heya Phil. Gas and go please." Larry smiles a tight smile at the man, a little nervous, a little excited. Cold sweat drips down his side and into his wife-beater in the cold of the air conditioned office.

"Gotta plan on file?" Phil flips up the FAA documents and looks through them.

"Just gonna do the hotel loop. Just want some time up, just want to relax." Larry cracks his knuckles nervously and widens his smile a little.

"Sure, call it in while I get ya ready. Good thing it's a slow night." Phil nods at Larry. He's seen him come through here lots of times. He's a solid businessman, like so many of the small pilots.

"Thanks, Phil."

"Not a problem. How's the family?"

"Great. Just like always. Perfect." Now there's a drip down his back.

...

Everything has gone perfectly. Vincent is isolated up in his suite, panic beginning to seep into him, weakening him. My confidence grows steadily as I feel the last of the bit players Hamlet their way off stage. Then I feel her, up in Vincent's lair. Martine. What the fuck is Martine doing in Vincent's hotel? She's in Vincent's suite. On the bed. I can feel her mind reaching out, but she's conflicted and troubled. Her power is clouded.

No. Fuck!

...

I pull my power back in. Suddenly sanity starts to return to Vegas. The world takes a long slow collective breath, and begins to pull itself together. People look at each other and then look away, they start to reach for clothes. In seconds I'm up and out of the booth running, Marco at my heels. I'm out of the lobby and through the doors. Across the lot there's a cab. The driver is trying to pull his clothes on and a woman in a black dress is climbing off the hood. The driver leaps into the cab as I arrive and we tear out of there, leaving the woman staring. Her panties are hooked on the hood ornament and flutter a little as we weave in and out of the tangled traffic.

As we arrive near Vincent's hotel, I hurl myself out of the cab and Marco launches himself toward the doors. The screaming, fucking, writhing mass starts in again as I start to let my power out. I'm angry now ... and scared for Martine.

I climb over bodies to get to the elevator.