Vampire Mafia: Santa Cruz Page 2

  Thomas Valentine lifted his head from what he hoped was just a bad dream and wished he could go back to sleep in his warm, comfortable bed. His head pulsated with waves of pain as he blinked in his new surroundings…the alarm bells ringing in his mind transforming into dread as he recognized where he was.

  It was a room he had seen before while working undercover. Memories flooded his mind as he realized he was chained to a table in a room below the central building in the center of the Stelino compound. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Luiggi…sharpening an axe. Then he saw Giuseppi putting a thick cloth apron over his shoulders, tying it around his waist. Valentine’s stomach lurched up to his throat. Giuseppi had a thing for tidiness…and the apron was to keep the blood from soiling his clothes.

  His blood.

  His heart hammered in his chest as he thought through the different scenarios, searching for a quick solution…anything to change his impending fate.

  Desperate situations call for desperate measures… 

  “No, Luiggi…you’re making a big mistake, mate!” If he could get a dialogue going, he might have a chance. A slim one, but it was all he had. “What is this about?”

  “Oh Valentine, you-ah big, big disappointment for the family, eh. We only love you like a brother and this is how you return the family’s generosity, huh!” The growing disdain in Luigi’s voice confirmed Valentine’s worst fear, the cold words penetrating his mind like an ice pick. “We found the wire. We know you’re working with the feds.”

  Valentine‘s eyes went wide, horror filtering through every cell in his body as images of his own death flashed in his mind.

  “Wait!  For the love of god, please just wait a minute. I can explain.”

  Luiggi smirked. “Your time is up Valentine. You think we leave things like this to chance? We have an agent in your office. He’s on our payroll and just gave you up. So the cat is, how they-ah say, looking to be out of the laundry bag for you.” Luiggi handed the axe to Giuseppi and they both paused, staring down, smiling, letting Valentine’s agonizing emotions hang a bit longer. The men’s eyes shone with anticipation…their smiles beamed with excitement.

  Valentine clung to the simple act of breathing as Giuseppi gripped the axe handle. He held it low, swinging the gleaming metal head gently across the floor like a pendulum.

  Finally, he spoke in low tones, just above a whisper, “Constantino says for you we take our time, you know what I mean, eh? Find out how much you know. So why not make it more easy for yourself and just tell us now, eh?”

  Valentine knew they were lying. If an agent had leaked classified information, the pair would already know everything he did. All of the evidence they had on Vincenzo and his three sons was circumstantial, which is why tonight’s mission had been so important. But clearly, none of that mattered now.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Valentine said, surprised at the cool confidence in his voice despite the way his head was spinning. “I haven’t the slightest clue as to what you’re talking about—”

  A silvery flash arched through the air as Giuseppi moved forward with the axe swinging above his head…coming down at full force. It landed with a sickening thud. Valentine didn’t feel anything except the loud thump of the heavy tool hitting the table. He looked down, blinked, and then blinked again, sudden shock gripping his mind as he saw the axe was stuck deep into the wooden table where his fingers used to be. He saw bright red splatter on Giuseppi’s white apron…yet, strangely, Valentine felt no pain. His head began to swirl…and the room grew darker…and…darker…

  CHAPTER THREE

   

   

  John Stanic’s mind would not stop racing. All of the aspects of his life equaled a mountain of stress…and there never seemed to be enough hours in one day. He was a full-time professor at Santa Cruz University and taught several courses in archeology and anthropology. It was his dream job, but a job that could also be overwhelming. At 5 a.m. he realized sleeping was out of the question, so instead he decided to go for an early morning jog.

  He lumbered out of bed, slid his legs into a pair of old sweatpants, shrugged his body into a hooded sweatshirt, and then began his routine of light stretching. Running had been his hobby for most of his life, and he was good at it. He typically ran one marathon and at least half a dozen shorter races each year. This year, he was training for the New York City Marathon. The world-famous event loomed just two short weeks away, so he decided to push himself a little harder this morning.

  He went to the kitchen and made a strong pot of coffee, then opened the fridge and took out a handful of ripe strawberries. He sipped the dark brew and ate the sweet fruit between stretches, then laced up his running shoes.

  Stanic loved living in the Santa Cruz foothills because of the challenging, hilly trails and the endless fresh, cool mountain air. He lived on a well manicured tree-lined street where his favorite mountain trail wrapped around the back of his property and S-curved its way up the mountain’s grade, deep into the lush green forest. He knew exactly what to expect. The first steps were always exhilarating. Like sliding into a cool swimming pool after a long soak in a hot tub.

  As he opened the back door and stepped out to the trail, he realized how dark it still was. “That’s the price you pay for getting up so damn early,” he muttered, then took the first step into the cool mist that enshrouded the mountains.

  His breath matched his heartbeat, steady and slow. He felt strong, like a slow moving train picking up speed right out from the station. He knew by around mile seven he would begin to feel the hypnotic trance of the runner’s high that he always anticipated achieving. Hopefully, right around mile seven, with his eyes half closed and barely aware of the world around him, he would enter what more experienced runners referred to as “the zone”. Or the moment he would begin to feel a powerful surge of dopamine course through his veins.

  Stanic picked up the pace. Dawn was just lighting up the hillside in a glorious display of light filtering through tall pines that made all his worrying about work seem insignificant in comparison. The trail had led him through a wooded grove and then out into an open meadow. He gazed across the field and frowned. Cutting through his scene of organic surroundings was a car parked out in the middle of a grassy meadow. The nearest road was a good 150 yards away. Someone had to be looking for seclusion to end up here. Not a good sign.

  He stopped in the middle of the trail and turned toward the car, breathing hard with his hands on his knees. It was a black Cadillac. Two men emerged from the front doors just as Stanic ducked down behind a thicket of small pine trees. The men were wearing well-tailored black suits. Definitely not nature lovers out for a morning stroll. The taller of the two men opened the back door and extracted shovels, handing one to his partner. Then the two of them rounded the car and then popped the trunk.

  As the trunk swung open…a blood-streaked hand reached out from the inside…a hand that was missing two fingers. Stanic stared in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat, unable to look away as the bony, flesh-torn stumps glistened in the bright sunlight.

  The two well-dressed men whipped their heads in his direction, their eyes locking on Stanic’s.

  He tried to look away but couldn’t. The shock of the bizarre vision paralyzed his body while his brain attempted to interpret the scene. The two men, however, suffered none of the same paralysis. They dropped their shovels, the first taking a quick step toward the small grove of trees.

  Fight or flight…

  He turned and took off back down the trail, his legs now rubbery, clumsy and numb. His lungs seized, rejecting the much needed airflow. Even as the adrenaline kicked in, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

   

  ***

   

  Over John Stanic’s right shoulder and off in the distance he heard the two men call out, “Wait! Hey, we just want to talk to you!”

  His adrenaline spiked, coursing through his body like a stimu
lant. His muscles tightened and contracted with lightning quickness as he ran, but just before he rounded the bend of the narrow mountain trail, he heard shots. Crack! Crack-crack! He felt the air move as the bullets whizzed by… smelled the lead in the air. Then…felt the burning pain as a bullet ripped through the flesh and muscle of his right shoulder. He grabbed his shoulder, applied tight pressure…and kept running.

  After sprinting another quarter-mile, he glanced back, looking for signs of the two men. Blood spread like an ink stain across his sweatshirt, increasing in size with every step. He knew he wouldn’t be able to continue this pace much longer so he turned to his right and sprinted straight into the forest hoping to find a hiding place. Sharp tree branches flew by at a blur as he ran, cutting into his face and arms. But the path dead-ended into a rock wall rising twenty feet high and stretching far from his left to his right. Gasping and choking for air, he searched for a way out… left…then right…then he gazed back at the forest where he’d just been, the hopelessness of his situation gripping his throat like an ever tightening noose.

  Too late to go back.

  He turned to his right and lurched ahead, running, stumbling, forcing his feet to move along the side of the steep mountain’s rim, warm blood now dripping down his arm as he ran. He prayed he wouldn’t pass out from blood loss as he pushed through more unforgiving tree branches that tore into him, scratching and gouging out pieces of flesh as he rushed toward the edge of the grove. And then… the earth dropped away before him. He slid to a quick stop, teetering in place, struggling for balance at the edge of a cliff…leading straight down into a vast rock quarry, just inches from where he stood.

  Trapped like a lab rat in a maze, Stanic turned, eyes fixing on the mountain terrain behind him. The only way out was the way he’d come in...then he heard the rushing footsteps of the men approaching in the distance.

  “Hey! We need to talk! Just want to talk!”

  Standing at the apex of the cliff’s long vertical drop, he looked up at the steep mountainside rising to his left. That’s when he noticed a sturdy tree root jutting through the base of the mountain, wrapping out over the cliff side. He grabbed onto the thick wood of the root with both hands and jumped, leaving his body swinging in the air and his feet dangling below like a just-caught fish flopping on a hook.

  Pain ripped through his torso as more fresh blood oozed from the wound in his shoulder and the lacerations on his arms and face. A small avalanche of rocks and fine dirt showered down on him from above, the noise betraying his location. He looked down from the dizzying height above the jagged rocks in the quarry below. Then one foot caught hold of something solid. An angular granite boulder, with just enough room for a toe, allowed him to make his way up the side of the rocky overhang.

  After climbing about fifteen feet of sheer mountain wall, the terrain leveled off a bit, allowing for quicker progress. As he made his way up the hill, he grabbed onto small trees and bushes for more leverage. Then he heard the menacing cry of his predators right behind him.

  “Wait! We just want to make this as easy as possible for you!”

  “Yeah, right,” Stanic mumbled. “Tell me another one, pal.”

  Clinging to a young sapling on the cliff’s upper edge, his mind raced across what few options he had. He again searched the hillside for an escape route. If he could just entice the men to follow him high enough up the mountainside, then maybe he could loop back around and get out the way he came in. But, his right arm was now numb, and he was still rapidly losing blood. Time was not on his side.

  He turned left and beat his way through the trees, stopping occasionally to listen. He could hear the men as they attempted to climb the rock wall behind him. He turned again and sprinted straight down hill. The steepness of the hillside caught him off guard and his feet slipped out from under him and he slid out-of-control, foot-first across the slick green foliage and loose dirt. His body picked up speed as he shot down the mountainside, blasting through the leaves and plant life like a torpedo. More brush whipped across his face as he barreled downward.

  He saw beams of bright sunlight coming toward him as it broke through the thick layers of foliage. The ground under him suddenly fell away and the unforgiving forest spit his body over the ridge and back onto the path that he came in on. He landed flat on his back with a solid thud. After gasping for a quick gulp of air, he stood, winced, and sucked in another breath as he scanned his surroundings.

  All was silent.

  He dashed back toward the main trail and soon approached the quiet meadow where the black Cadillac still sat. He let out a long sigh of relief, realizing his plan had worked…at least for the moment.

  He paused in place and stared at the car, remembering the bloody, deformed hand reaching out from the trunk.

  Taking quick glances at the trail behind him, he crept forward. As he closed in on the vehicle, he saw the trunk was closed. He squinted through the dark tinted windows on the driver’s side door for the trunk release but something glimmering caught his eye instead.

  Keys. The keys to the Caddie were still in the ignition! Stanic opened the door but hesitated. He thought about the man in trunk, then about the bullet hole in his arm. He made a quick decision, slid onto the seat and started the engine. The Cadillac’s high-performance engine purred as he accelerated out of the meadow then down a narrow dirt road and safely onto the highway.

  His wound was still bleeding as he sped down mile after mile of open road in search of the closest hospital. Then he heard loud thumping noises from the back end of the car and swerved toward the nearest exit ramp and pulled to a stop on a deserted road surrounded by acres of farmland and far from view of the freeway. He waited a beat, listening as he scanned across the long stretch of empty field. More thumping…this time accompanied by a muffled voice. Stanic pulled the release lever on the dashboard, jumped from the car and ran toward the back. The trunk lock disengaged, easing open as he peered inside.

   

  CHAPTER FOUR

   

   

  The man in the trunk wore a white dress shirt streaked with deep ruby stains, but he looked up with a bright smile.

  “How’re we doin’ then, mate?” the man said, blocking the sudden flood of sunlight from his eyes with a hand gloved in red.

  “Not well,” Stanic replied, looking at the gruesome amount of blood. He could see the man’s left hand was missing both its ring and pinky fingers. “You?”

  “Been better, actually, but I’m glad to see you there, mate… instead of those two goons. Mind giving us a hand up ’n’ out of ’ere?”

  Stanic’s brain was still tumbling through the events of the morning as he helped the man out of the trunk.

  “The name is Thomas Valentine. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Just dumb luck, I guess,” he said glancing around. “Here, let me take a look at that hand.”

  Valentine lifted his macabre stumps into the sunlight and Stanic flinched at the sight of wounds. “Let’s get out here, right now,” he said, pointing toward the passenger side of the car and then he slid behind the wheel.

  “Right behind you, mate.” Valentine jumped into the car just as the tires turned through the loose gravel, spitting rocks into the air behind them as they headed back toward the highway.

   

  ***

   

  “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. Who is trying to kill you?” Stanic gunned the accelerator and the car responded with jolt of forward motion. 

  Valentine stared into the distance, his face now showing signs of pain as he applied pressure to his wounded hand.

  “Have you heard of the Stelino family crime syndicate?”

  Stanic shook his head. “No. I’m a college professor. I don’t keep up with that sort of thing.”

  Stanic’s only interest at the moment was finding out what was going on.

  Apparently Valentine sensed Stanic wasn’t going to engage in small talk, “
Well, Vincenzo Stelino just happens to be head of the mob. And…he tried to have me executed this morning…and I can guarantee he won’t stop until I’m buried in a shallow grave or deep in the great blue Pacific. You, on the other hand, are simply collateral damage—wrong place, wrong time, mate. You witnessed the crime, and then you even managed to stop it— thank goodness for my sake—then proceeded to steal their shiny black car. They’ll have a major vendetta against you as well. And one more important thing, mate…” he paused, looking at Stanic. “They have police officers on their payroll. This is no joke… it’s quite a big mess.”

  Valentine glanced over his shoulder to the back seat. “What do we have here?” he asked, pulling a large, blue Nylon, heavy-gauge gym bag into the front with his uninjured hand.

  Stanic pried his eyes off the road for a second, watching as Valentine unzipped the bag and revealed its contents.

  “Guns,” Stanic muttered, feeling a little uneasy with the find.

  Valentine reached in and snatched up a black pistol.

  “This is a Walther PK380 semi-automatic. It’s extra lightweight, but still powerful.” He checked the clip before handing it to Stanic. “Also, it’s loaded, so be careful, mate.”

  Valentine pulled out a second gun, fingering the handle with his good hand. “This one’s a Glock, also semi-automatic,” he said pointing at the weapon with his bloody stumps as he described it. “This crosshatch style, short grip, tells me it’s a fourth-generation Glock 19. Holds up to eight rounds and—” He popped the clip out of the weapon, then snapped it back in place. “—also fully loaded.”

  “Those men planned to use these two guns to execute me back there in the meadow. I’m sure the serial numbers have been filed down as well,” Valentine reported as he reached into the bag and traded the Glock for a small manila envelope.

  He opened the flap, smearing faint lines of blood across the top. “Of course. It’s the cash for the hit.” Valentine fanned out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Looks like about twenty grand here.” His expression fell flat, the disappointment on his face obvious.

  “That’s all they get these days for whacking a guy? Only twenty grand? Tsk-tsk.”