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  “Wha..? Where the hell did they come from?” Chris asked, as he watched the escalating situation.

  One of the newcomers was a big man and he sported a splint over the wrist of his right arm. I didn't know the man personally, but I did recognize him and his injury. The guy's name was Mikhail and he had accompanied Dimitri Lagos in an unexpected visit to my office in Las Vegas a couple of months ago. When he had pointed his shotgun in my face Lei had rewarded him by shattering his wrist and arm. Crushing fractures like the one Lei had given him took months to heal, and his infirmity had apparently resulted in his demotion from personal bodyguard to... what I didn't know.

  “Those are Dimitri's people,” I said deadpan.

  Chris recognized what was happening and said, “I suppose it's a dumb question, but should we do something? Call the police or...” He seemed to remember the concern shown by the cop on the street and sighed, “Right, never-mind.”

  “We couldn't get there in time anyway,” I commented, “but maybe we'll learn something?”

  I could feel Chris' eyes on me as I continued to watch through the binoculars, “You once told me that the Russians still hunt for live blood, right?”

  I didn't want to answer, but not answering or even lying outright to Chris wasn't an option I even considered, “Yes, they do.”

  “Damn, then it's four against two,” Chris commented. “That just doesn't seem fair.”

  I grunted, “It isn't supposed to be. And it's five against two if you count the...” I had moved the glasses to look and see what the cop was doing, only to see him lying flat on the ground. Whether he was unconscious or dead, I didn't know, but whatever the case he had been taken out quickly and efficiently.

  “What the hell?” I said out loud.

  The smoker's friends had suddenly realized the danger they were in and began backing away from the closer pair of men walking toward them, while casting nervous glances behind them at the more distant pair.

  “Now who the hell is this guy?” Chris said as I focused on the downed cop. I shifted my binoculars and found the subject of Chris' confusion to be a homeless man, maybe one of the one's I had seen about to go dumpster diving for his dinner earlier, and who limped weakly into the alley behind the pair of Dimitri's people and appeared to be studying the situation.

  “Might want to get out of there old man,” Chris said as we both focused our binoculars on the tattered clothes of the hobo's back.

  We watched as the homeless man shifted his gaze to the different men in the alley, and then without any warning he sprinted forward with a powerful stride and no indication of any sign of infirmity.

  Chris and I both nearly jumped out of our skin as we saw the man moving with a speed and grace that belied the man's appearance to such a degree that it seemed unnatural. In less than a second he had reached the first pair of Dimitri's men, who had no idea that the newcomer had even arrived, and he slammed into them with enough force to literally knock them off their feet.

  Chris and I could see the body language of the four other men in the alley, prey and predators alike, jolt to attention as all eyes turned to take in the latest arrival and the scuffle he had begun at the far end of the alley. The newcomer wasn't huge, but he wasn't small either. Maybe six feet tall, with a shock of shoulder length black hair and a full, but close-cut beard. He was wearing oversized tattered jeans and a filthy sweatshirt that, if cleaned, wouldn't be out of the ordinary for any other man of his apparent age to be wearing. The only thing out of place was a strange looking messenger bag that seemed to be made out of some kind of animal hide that he carried slung over his shoulder.

  I shifted the binoculars to see the big one, Mikhail, take a step back as if he recognized the man before pulling a long curved blade from his belt with his uninjured hand. The man next to Mikhail looked confused but followed the big man's lead by pulling his own knife.

  The former homeless man looked at the party-goers who had become potential victims, and gestured by pointing finger at their unconscious friend, and then waving for them to get him and go. Hesitantly they moved to their friend's side, but froze as the man alongside Mikhail started to move toward them. The homeless man moved as well, as if to attack, and Mikhail's partner backed off. The club goers picked up their friend and ran back past the homeless man, who continued to face Mikhail and his partner.

  Mikhail decided he wanted to talk, but despite seeing his mouth moving I couldn't make out what he was saying. The homeless man never responded, but casually slipped one hand inside of the messenger bag. Mikhail saw the move and his face turned white with what seemed to be fear, as his adversary's hand came out of the bag clenching something small within his fist.

  Seeing that the man hadn't removed anything so obvious as a gun or knife, Mikhail's partner became emboldened and strode forward with a smile on his face. Mikhail reached out to the man, but seemed reluctant to move forward in order to catch him. I thought I could just make out Mikhail's voice on the wind calling out to his partner to stop, but instead the man foolishly rushed forward in a low crouch and thrust the blade in his hand upward diagonally toward the homeless man's upper torso and neck.

  I watched and couldn't help thinking it was a competent strike that was sure to have a lethal result if it connected, but the homeless man effortlessly backed out of his attacker's reach and raised his clenched fist to his lips. In one motion he opened his fist and blew the contents of his hand into a green cloud of powder or ash that blossomed from his palm and enveloped the attacker's head. The man was completely taken by surprise as the vapor invaded his mouth, nostrils and eyes and made him falter in his tracks. Immediately he began coughing and desperately rubbing at his eyes as his initial discomfort quickly escalated into a confused and painful panic. Blood began seeping from his nose and streaming down his face from his eyes like blood-colored tears as the man began clutching at his throat, flailing around helplessly, until he finally just fell to his knees, clawing at his face and hacking out black globs of vile looking fluids.

  I could hear Chris' breathing growing rapid, as we watched the scene through our binoculars, with their added magnification making it seem as though they were only a few yards away. With our full attention on the victim of... whatever that green cloud had been... we didn't notice that Mikhail had attacked the man as well. When I looked up I saw the homeless man dodging backwards from left to right to avoid the slashing attacks of his knife. Mikhail had apparently wanted to press his advance before the man could pull anything else out of that pack of his and, considering what it had done to his friend, it was probably as good a plan as any. The itinerant newcomer wasn't trying to counter the attacks in any way, rather he was just getting out of the way without retreating completely.

  “What's he doing?” Chris asked, as we continued watching. “He's not trying to fight back?”

  I nodded, “It's almost as though he were trying to...” my words caught in my throat when I understood what was happening. “He's drawing him in.”

  “Drawing him in close? For what?” Chris asked, “Is he gonna hit him with his purse?”

  “I...” my voice caught again, as the vagrant dodged to one side when Mikhail thrust his blade forward and left himself slightly off balance and overextended as the blade passed harmlessly by his opponent. I could just make out the homeless man reaching for something at the small of his back before there was a flash of motion and, in the next moment, Mikhail hit the ground with his knife arm severed just above the elbow while the homeless man stood over him with an enormous Bowie knife held out to one side. The sheer length and mass of the blade was more than should have been concealable, and I would have sworn that he had been unarmed.

  Before Mikhail had a chance to realize what had happened, the homeless man lunged and delicately swept the Bowie knife across Mikhail's throat in a killing stroke, which was much more like the slash of someone accustomed to a sword, as opposed to a fighting knife. I could see Mikhail trying to raise his head, before h
is pink vampire blood erupted from his throat and the dramatic drop in blood pressure from his pair of grievous wounds immediately rendered him unconscious.

  The homeless man knelt in front of Mikhail as the man died, then wiped his Bowie knife on Mikhail's shirt before standing and returning the knife to its sheath beneath the shirt on his back.

  I looked over to Chris, who had lowered his binoculars as well and saw the frown on his face. Chris turned to me and asked, “What the hell did we just see?”

  I shook my head, “I'm not sure, but it looked like Mikhail, the big guy, recognized that homeless guy.”

  Chris' face was nearly wild as he said, “You knew one of them?”

  I nodded, “Lei gave him that arm injury a couple months back. He had come calling with Dimitri in Las Vegas.”

  Chris seemed to calm and remembered what I called the newcomer on the street, “Homeless guy? Really?”

  I shrugged, “I know, but what else do I call him?”

  Chris' face relaxed a bit but the concern was still apparent in his features, “Maybe... really scary, S.O.B.?”

  I smiled an ironic half smile, “Too many words,” and raised the binoculars back up to my eyes. Suddenly my breath caught in my throat as a cold tremor rose up my spine and threatened to make my knees give out with fear, as I looked through the binoculars.

  Chris must have noticed my reaction as his instantly demanded, “What?!”

  Through the lenses I could see the homeless man staring directly up at me, the magnification of the binoculars, making it appear as if he were only a stone's throw away. The intensity of that glare made it seem as if he was not only aware of our presence, but also looking directly into my eyes. I tried to lower the binoculars, but I was completely frozen under the man's angry stare.

  Chapter 10

  I couldn't move. Hell, I couldn't even breathe, as I was held by the crystalline gaze of the man's eyes. I knew Chris was calling out to me but his voice was garbled, as if I were listening to him while submerged in water. I started to feel dizzy and was desperately trying to will my lungs into taking in a breath of air, but any conscious control I previously had over my body was overwhelmed by the need to not break eye contact with the man on the street far below me. Finally, just as I started to lose the sense of my legs beneath me, I saw the his frown change into something more like confusion, and he broke eye contact with me. Instantly I was able to suck in a breath of air, dropped the binoculars from my face and fell to my knees. Chris was at my side instantly, catching me before I could topple over, while I just panted for more air.

  “What is it? What's wrong?” Chris was demanding, but I still hadn't recovered enough air to be able to answer him. I held up a hand instead, trying to relay the information that I was going to be okay, and to just give me a second. I guessed that Chris got the message, because he stopped talking and went into doctor mode, checking my pulse and looking me over for any signs of injury.

  When I finally felt as though I could stand I said, “Okay help me up,” and Chris lifted me to my feet but didn't release my arm as I walked to the rooftop door.

  Seeing I was back in control of whatever had weakened me, Chris asked again, “What happened to you out there?”

  I shook my head, “I'm not sure,” I said honestly, “I was looking through the lenses, but when I locked eyes with the guy who had attacked Dimitri's people...” I tried to search for the right words without being overly melodramatic, but failed miserably, “Well, it was like I was caught in the guy's gaze, like when a snake mesmerizes its prey before it strikes.”

  Chris frowned, “You think he could see you? Knew we were up here?”

  “Seemed that way to me.”

  Chris thought about it for second, “Even if that were possible, we'd be tiny smudges on top of a building over a block away. There's no way he could see with enough detail to stare directly into your eyes.”

  I sighed, “I know, but I'm telling you his eyes weren't scanning around haphazardly looking at a shapes in the distance. He was on me. No question about it and...” My voice trailed off as a chill spread through me, and I thought about the expression in those eyes as they held me immobile.

  I looked up to see Chris frowning at me with concern, then he shook himself as if clearing the thoughts from his head, “Okay, so let's focus more on what we do now?” When I raised a confused eyebrow at him he continued, “Assuming for one second the guy didn't give you anything more than a really bad case of the 'stink eye', what do we do about it?”

  “Do?”

  Chris shrugged, “If he realizes we are up here, then shouldn't we be preparing for some unwelcome company?”

  I thought about that for a moment and then shook my head, “I don't think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I remember the look on the man's face as he broke off eye contact. It wasn't aggressive as much as if he was confused. Almost as if he had “read” my intentions and realized we weren't a threat.”

  “Could have been a feint. Maybe he's just a good poker player and wanted to give you that impression?”

  I took a deep breath, and relished it as I became more aware of the icy cold air that both calmed and refreshed me, “I think we're okay, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to leave the roof and then get back on task.”

  We headed back down the stairs and walked into our room. Chris immediately began enlarging the grid of satellite feeds on the screen of his computer. “You looking for our homeless friend?” I asked.

  Chris ignored the question, “Dimitri's cars are all still parked on the street in front of his favorite club, so what's the plan from here?”

  I moved behind Chris so I could look at the computer’s screen, and pointed to one of the small video feeds that sat in a checkerboard pattern on the screen, “Is that the front of the club?”

  Chris nodded as he used the touchpad to move the cursor to the point I had indicated, and clicked, which enlarged the shot. The party seemed to push its way into the street, and the huge number of people that had been waiting for entrance to the club were now dancing around like revelers at Mardi Gras. Several of the patrons held bottles of champagne, vodka or beer over their heads, as they danced around like well-dressed fools with ridiculous clown smiles on their faces.

  “Looks like someone bought a round of something for everyone waiting in line.”

  I scanned the perimeter of the crowd and cursed.

  “What?” Chris asked.

  “Look.” I pointed at the edges of the screen, “More people are walking over and, from the way they are dressed, they’re locals, not party-goers.”

  “So?”

  “He's deliberately drawing a larger crowd around the club.”

  Chris enlarged the video screens that connected to the one in front of the club. Indeed, everyone and anyone who happened to be on the street began ambling over to the scene in front of the nightclub. Instantly the new arrivals were engulfed by the gyrating crowd as more bottles of booze appeared out of nowhere, to be passed around to anyone with empty hands.

  “I don't get it,” Chris admitted, “What's the point?”

  “Best guess is that the bodies of Dimitri's men in the alley were found, and he's building a wall between himself and whoever might be attacking him.”

  Chris looked up from the computer screen, “A wall?”

  I nodded, “It would be kind of hard to storm through the front door at this point, don't you think?”

  Chris looked back to the screen as he said, “There's a back door.”

  “Which is likely being fortified by Dimitri's people. My guess is that Dimitri's men are going to search the area behind the club, and then scoot him out of there in some rather inconspicuous kind of vehicle.”

  Chris inclined his head to me without looking up from the computer as he reduced all of the video images on the screen before enlarging the image of the back of the club. Men and women, all clad in black attire, were winding through the alleyways behind the c
lub when an overhead roll-up door began to rise. Slowly an unmarked white cargo van pulled out into the alley, and casually rolled away from the club.

  As I watched I raised a hand and said sarcastically, “Goodnight Mr. Lagos.”

  Chris chuckled, “Okay, so there was a reason you made ‘Detective’ rank so quickly when you were with the LAPD. However, if you are done showing off, it doesn't change the question of what do we do now?”

  I rubbed at my eyes, which still seemed to be aching from the stare off with that homeless guy. I walked to the bed and opened a bottle of water that had been set on what passed for a nightstand.

  Chris watched me as I walked to the bathroom and poured some of the water onto a towel and wiped my face with the damp cloth.

  “You sure you're okay?” Chris asked as I draped the damp towel over the hanging rack for it to dry.

  “Yeah, I'm okay,” I hesitantly admitted, “but I feel vulnerable and completely unprepared to move against Dimitri or his people at the moment.”

  Chris waited for me to finish the thought, and I asked him, “Do you still have the name of Larson's contact? The one who made the arrangements for smuggling us into the country?”

  Chris pulled out his cell phone, and after punching the screen a couple of times, nodded and held the phone toward me, as if I could read it from across the room.

  “Yep, got it.” Chris said with a smile once he saw me roll my eyes at the phone.

  “I think we need to see him, and maybe get some better gear and any recon info available on the club, or more importantly on whatever the story might be regarding the relationship between Dimitri and the local authorities.”

  I could see the wheels turning in Chris' head, “That cop on the street during the mugging?”

  I nodded, “If they aren't here to 'protect and serve', then what is their purpose? And are they a threat we have to worry about, in addition to Dimitri's people?”