The Nightlife: New York
Page 28

At times the Predator drifted a little closer to the surface of his mind, pushing its aggressive agenda over the top of Aaron’s thought processes. This was rare, but almost predictable. It was always precipitated by some situation where the Predator perceived a threat. At first Aaron didn’t even realize these baser urges of aggression were not truly his own.
In these moments where his control over the beast slipped, it sometimes acted of its own will, enslaving Aaron’s body to its desires. In one instance, it almost killed a man. It happened while running an errand for Michelle. She sent Aaron to the corner store a couple blocks down the street. As he walked along minding his own business, a hapless bum hobbled out of the alleyway. He probably intended to ask for spare change or whatever. The Predator saw a threat. Before Aaron knew what happened, the Predator leaped forward, seizing his motor skills. He lashed out at the vagrant with a back hand, knocking the poor guy sprawling across the sidewalk.
Aaron stood in complete shock and awe at what he’d done. The vagrant cursed and spit at him in a toothless garble, “Ga dern sumbitch. Leavemee lone! I ain’t touch you. Don’t go messin’ with me, ya crazy bastard!”
He stood there gawking at the filthy old geezer like an idiot. The man picked himself up and limped off, cursing the whole way. Since that incident Aaron realized he’d have to maintain a vigil of his own, to keep a close eye on the Predator’s reactions and urges, keep it from bleeding over into his life.
The Predator knew otherwise. It knew there would always be those incidents––moments of need––when decisive, aggressive action would be necessary. Like a caged lion that knows it will escape eventually, the Predator waited patiently for Aaron to leave the door unlatched.
* * * *
Michelle noticed the change in Aaron immediately. He was now a man in every sense of the word. There was a rock-solid powerful presence beneath every movement and expression. His carriage, stance, demeanor, walk, everything about him spoke of power. The kind of inner strength that comes with being self-assured of the ability to manage any situation.
Without words to acknowledge the event, their relationship had completely morphed overnight. He became her equal. There was no more of the motherly mentorship role. Aaron’s judgment, instincts, capabilities, and maturity were unquestionable. She had nothing left to teach that he hadn’t learned that night.
She loathed using her authority of compulsion for any reason other than a dire life-threatening emergency. It seemed an offensive act to degrade this powerful, graceful creature with a compulsive command.
Like a person who owns a wild animal, to taunt the beast with cruel treatment is to risk loss of life and limb. She didn’t wish to arouse Aaron’s wrath with petty commands of compulsion. He was a force to be reckoned with, not manipulated. To this extent, she actually feared him. Without the reassurance of his love, without his constant affection, she’d be looking over her shoulder for a stab in the back.
She understood, probably better than Aaron did, exactly how vicious and dangerous a male vampire could be. She had no desire to evoke the darkness within him. He was normally the perfect vision of comportment and civility, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Their relationship functioned on a new paradigm of mutual love and respect. But she was no longer his master. Not if she valued her life. Her days of ordering Aaron around were finished.
* * * *
MEDICAL EXAMINER RULES N.Y.P.D. DETECTIVES DEATHS A DOUBLE HOMICIDE
The death of fifty-two year old detective Conner Oberman with the 124th precinct N.Y.P.D., has been ruled a homicide, the medical examiner’s office said Monday. Detective Oberman was found face-down in the south side parking lot of the Ramada Inn on Lincoln Blvd. at 11:55 p.m. Friday evening by police officials responding to reports of multiple gunshots fired. Investigators determined that Oberman fell to his death from the third floor balcony of room 322.
In a related homicide, Oberman’s partner, forty-nine year old Detective Sean Konowicz with the 124th precinct N.Y.P.D., was pronounced dead at the scene in room 322 of the same hotel. Detective Konowicz’s autopsy states, “… massive trauma to the trachea …” with a “… significant contributing factor of external hemorrhage as the cause of death,” according to the news release from the medical examiner’s office. When asked if the detectives were on official police business when the murders took place, Police Chief Schueller declined to comment stating, “The investigation is ongoing and the N.Y.P.D. homicide detectives are following all potential leads.” There have been no suspects identified as of yet and no new developments in the investigation beyond the medical examiner’s reports.
CHAPTER 23
Michelle handed her cell phone off to Aaron. “Is your friend again. Please make the arrangements.” He nodded and winked at her.
“Hey Kyle, it’s good to hear from you. What’s up?”
“Same ole same ole. What have you been doing with yourself lately? Seems like forever since we hung out.” Kyle hadn’t spoken to him in over a week. Not since he called to warn him about the detectives.
“I’m doing great, fantastic actually. I’ve been keeping really busy. Michelle’s got me running here, there, and everywhere.” Aaron snorted at the inside joke.
“I’ll bet. You gotta do whatever it takes to keep a girl like Michelle happy.” Obviously Kyle was still enthralled with Michelle, but then who wasn’t? Everyone she came into contact with fell under her spell. She collected admirers like other women collect shoes.
“You betcha. I make sure to do everything I can to keep my baby happy. You wouldn’t want to see what she’s like when she’s angry. That’s something to avoid at all costs.” Aaron paused and then redirected, “How about you? What’s new? Find a new roommate yet?”
“No man, I guess I’m just a sentimental fool. I can’t bring myself to put anyone else in your room. It wouldn’t be the same.” Kyle spoke as though reciting a Shakespearean tragedy.
“Stop it. You’re gonna make me cry!” Aaron mimicked Kyle’s tragic tone. He knew the truth––Kyle simply couldn’t find another chump to foot the bill for half the rent and utilities.
“Hey, man, don’t get all weepy on me. You know I can’t handle it. Really, I called to invite you and Michelle to a little party I’m having this Friday. Since you can’t seem to find the time to come see your best friend I decided to throw a party. Seemed like a good excuse to get you to show up.”
“Ohhh reeaaallly. And should I assume this invitation comes with the requirement that I bring a twenty-four pack?”
Kyle snickered. “You know me far too well. It’s like you can read my mind or somethin’. Kinda startin’ to creep me out dude!”
“I tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll show up with a twenty-four pack and my fabulously gorgeous girlfriend, ready to party, on one condition … You make sure Delia’s there.”
“You got it, man. She woulda been here anyway. You know that.” Kyle paused. “I gotta say, Michelle has Delia beat hands down, all the way around. It’s like, no contest. Honestly, I don’t know why you’d be interested in Delia anymore.”
“Definitely, Michelle is awesome, no doubt about it. But hey … don’t say anything to Delia about this, okay? I want to surprise her. Got it?”
“Sure, no problem, catch you Friday, around ten. You take care. Tell Michelle I said hi.” Kyle hung up.
Aaron turned to Michelle with a wicked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Hey, baby, we’re goin’ to a party Friday night! Delia’s gonna be there. Make sure you let her know how much we appreciate everything she’s done for us.”
“Oui mon chéri, I will make sure she knows exactly how I feel!”
* * * *
Talco felt like he truly had a guardian angel. Someone up above had taken pity on him. He’d been delivered from the hands of the demon who came to drag Oberman and Konowicz to Hell. Sure he had some broken ribs, and a surgery on his punctured lung, but he was alive and well, relatively speaking. Sitting in his hospital bed, he read the newspaper daily, searching for any mention of the detectives. He saw the articles, which said very little, but it was enough.
He knew the score. He knew how very close he came to sharing their fate. It was divine intervention that woke him from unconsciousness in the hotel hallway and steered him down the stairwell to life and freedom. His escape from the Ramada Inn was nothing short of a religious experience.
The police didn’t have a clue he had been there. There were no witnesses who survived. What could a witness testify to anyway? Would a judge and jury listen to tales of demonic entities sent to collect the damned, dragging their souls down into the abyss? There was no way to explain to the faithless what had occurred that night.
He swore to bury the memory. None would ever hear his tale. He’d keep this event close to his chest and build upon it a foundation for a new life free of corruption. He would be a good father, a good husband, a good member of the church and community.
His deal with the devil had been broken, his life spared. He would not waste this opportunity to remake himself in the eyes of God and all those he loved.
* * * *
Aaron smiled wide as Kyle opened the door to his apartment.
“Hey Aaron, my man, my savior, what would I do without you––and your beer?” Kyle bumped knuckles with him and then took in Michelle in all her splendor. “Ah Michelle, mon amour, you’re looking lovely as ever.” Kyle made eyes at her, grabbing her hand as though he would kiss it. She swatted him away and smiled demurely, in character with her girl-next-door persona, assumed and discarded at the flick of a switch.
Michelle did indeed look lovely in her second-skin, black jeans and skimpy, red top with lots of open back and cleavage.
Aaron saw Delia immediately, camped on the other side of the room with Amber and gang. Delia could not stop staring at him. He acted like she didn’t exist.