Recall Night, page 12
part #2 of An Eli Carver Supernatural Thriller Series
Before I can say any more, Slovak pulls himself into a sitting position. “Now let’s talk about this,” he says, looking wide-eyed up at Bridget.
She walks up to him and fires the Glock point blank at his face. His eyes and nose disintegrate and the back of his head explodes. He slams back into the deck.
“Holeeeee shit!” Dwight crows.
“I should have done that in the first place,” Bridget says. She wipes the gun off with her shirt tail, then presses it into the hand of the nearest dead Lombardi crewmember.
“Eli, look out!” Michael’s voice is tight and I look up to see Lombardi drawing. Seems like he finally found some balls when there were no other options, and I was distracted.
I yell in annoyance and drop, his shot whines over my head and I fire wildly from the ground. It hits him low in the gut and he doubles over, staggers back. Grimacing he brings his weapon to bear again and fires rapidly. I logroll as fast as I can, cement chips spinning up from the floor. Then Bridget, weaponless, barrels into him with both arms outstretched.
He stumbles and goes down onto one knee, his free hand coming away from his belly, blood-soaked, to stop him face-planting. It’s all I need, and I sit up and put two shots through the top of his head.
“God damnit,” Graney says, looking around at the massacre. “You are still alive, you tenacious asshole.”
“We need to get out of here,” Bridget says. Her face is set, but her hands shake almost uncontrollably. This was probably her first gunfight. Honestly, she’s handling it superbly.
I nod. “You’re right.” I wipe my gun down the way she did before and drop it near one of the dead bastards. As I stand up, I hear a groan. The guy I got in the belly. I forgot about him.
He’s lying on his side, face white as the moon, a huge pool of blood spreading out from him in an expanding fan. He looks up at me with wild eyes. “I ain’t gonna tell nobody shit,” he says between hitched gasps.
Trouble is, he knows my name. He knows Bridget’s name. In truth, he’s already dead. Except a gut shot like that could take hours to finish him off. If someone showed up and got him medical aid, he might survive. If he survives, he might talk. The gun he dropped lies a foot or two from him. As my eyes move to it he shoots out a hand, remarkably fast considering his condition. He gets a grip on it, but I grab his hand and twist, turning the gun back on him. I scrunch his fingers so he squeezes the trigger and the round punches into his breastbone. He jerks and falls still.
I get up and join Bridget. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
The back door of the Bridgewater house is easy enough to kick in, especially as I know no one is there and I don’t need to be cautious. Going through the kitchen I find a note identical to the one at the Morristown house. I guess in case I came here first. We soon find the downstairs room Lombardi used for an office. Sure enough, above the desk is an oil painting of the dead fucker. Honestly, what kind of asshole sits underneath their own portrait? Wearing the driver’s gloves I picked up, I pull against it and it opens like a door. There’s a large wall safe behind.
“Seems like that much was true then,” Bridget says.
I nod, remembering the number Andretti gave me: 8-9-4-3-2. It’s entirely possible he knew that from Alfie, it doesn’t prove it was Cora inside the suave-looking mob boss. I shake the thought away. I don’t need to care about it. I tap the code into the keypad by the safe handle. Sure enough, the little red LED goes out and the green one next to it comes on.
“Let’s see then,” I say. Inside the safe there’s all kinds of stuff. A bunch of envelopes, some data discs, a few books, like old ledgers. None of that interests us. But there are also several stacks of cash.
“Jackpot,” Bridget whispers. “How much is it?”
I pull all the wads out and we turn to count it on the desk. A variety of denominations in a variety of combinations, but it only takes us a minute to figure out it’s just under one hundred grand.
Bridget looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “I know you don’t really owe me shit. After all, you got in this mess entirely because you were kind enough to help me out.” She’s wondering if I’m going to share.
I put my hand between the piles and slide one lot over toward her. Eighty grand. The other eighteen and change can be for me.
“You sure?” Her eyes are wide.
“This whole thing is a confusing mess, but we seem to have come out on top. Lombardi cost you eighty grand. There it is paid back. You offered me seven hundred and fifty and I have eighteen large. Pretty good, right?”
She grins and it’s a beautiful sight.
“You think you’ve won?” The voice is deep and startles us both. My hand is reaching for a gun that isn’t there even as I realize it’s Papa Night standing in the office doorway. He raises his hands, palms out. “Peace. I’m just here to check how things went down.”
“You can tell Andretti he doesn’t need to worry about Lombardi anymore.”
Night tips his head to one side. “Andretti? Sure, okay.”
We stand and stare at each other for a while. My ghosts are ranged about the room, all narrow-eyed as they watch him. Except Sly. He has reason not to like the guy, I suppose. He stands way off in the corner, staring at the ground. He’s genuinely scared. Honestly, though, he’s already dead. What the fuck can he have to fear?
“This guy freaks me the fuck out,” Dwight says.
“He’s not good for you!” Alvin adds.
“Don’t listen to him,” Officer Graney says. “He’s a dangerous prick.”
They all sound desperate. I like that. They’re all scared of him. Could he be a threat to these dead fuckers?
Michael just looks from him to me and back again, his eyes tight.
Night stares hard at me, then around the room, nose tipped up almost as if he’s trying to catch a scent. “Something lingers with you, hmmm?” His voice resonates even when he speaks quietly like this. But he doesn’t look directly at any one of my haunts. Seems he can’t see them any more than anyone else. But I feel like he knows they’re there. I guess in truth they’re mine alone. Maybe they are just aspects of me. “Perhaps I can help?” Night says.
Perhaps he can, but I don’t want anything to do with him. And not because Sly Barclay doesn’t trust him, or because the others are so scared of him. It’s because I saw him open a woman’s chest and drink the blood right from her still-warm heart. At least, I think I did. It doesn’t take a genius to know no good can come of associating with a man like that.
“No. Thanks.”
He nods slowly. “Well. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
“Okay.”
Papa Night turns and walks away and it feels like a full stop in this whole affair. Bridget picks up her money and stuffs it into a briefcase she’s found near the desk. My own bag is still up in the room I used, so I head up and retrieve it, then cram my share inside while Bridget retrieves her small suitcase.
“What now?” Bridget asks.
I honestly don’t know. I have a decent bit of start-up cash now, I guess, but a start up for what? I feel like New York isn’t quite what I thought it might be. It would make sense to remove myself, for a little while at least.
As if reading my mind, Bridget says. “Fancy a trip to Vegas?”
“Oh, fuck me,” Dwight says, face twisted in disgust. “After all that he’s even gonna get laid.”
Bridget’s eyes are mischievous. “I could use a bodyguard, and I enjoy your company,” she says, a little bit husky. She looks up through her lashes. “You look a lot better without the beard, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I do.” She hefts her bag. “And I have stake money.”
“Vegas, huh?” I like the idea. I especially like the idea of spending time with Bridget.
“Sure,” she says. “We get away from this house, find somewhere to patch up your wounds, we can be on our way before dark.”
“What happened to being rōnin?” Michael asks, but a smile is twitching the unruined side his face.
Maybe this is being rōnin. After all, masterless samurai would take work where they could get it, so being a bodyguard fits the role. I guess I can always go back to a different way of life if it doesn’t work out. I nod to Bridget, smile. “Vegas sounds like fun.”
END
ABOUT ALAN BAXTER
Alan Baxter is a British-Australian author who writes supernatural thrillers and urban horror, rides a motorcycle and loves his dogs. He also teaches Kung Fu. He lives among dairy paddocks on the beautiful south coast of New South Wales, Australia, with his wife, son, dogs and cat. He’s the multi-award-winning author of several novels and over seventy short stories and novellas. So far. Read extracts from his novels, a novella and short stories at his website – www.warriorscribe.com – or find him on Twitter @AlanBaxter and Facebook, and feel free to tell him what you think. About anything.
"Grey Matter Press has established itself as one of the premiere purveyors of horror fiction currently in existence..." -- FANGORIA Magazine
MANIFEST RECALL
The Eli Carver Supernatural Thriller Series - Book One
by Alan Baxter
Following a psychotic break, Eli Carver finds himself on the run, behind the wheel of a car that’s not his own, and in the company of a terrified woman he doesn’t know. As layers of ugly truth are peeled back and dark secrets are revealed, the duo find themselves in a struggle for survival when they unravel a mystery that pits them against the most dangerous forces in their lives.
A contemporary southern gothic thriller with frightening supernatural overtones, Alan Baxter’s Manifest Recall explores the tragic life of a hitman who finds himself on the wrong side of his criminal syndicate. Baxter’s adrenaline-fueled approach to storytelling draws readers into Eli Carver’s downward spiral of psychosis and through the darkest realms of lost memories, human guilt and the insurmountable quest for personal redemption.
REVIEWS:
"If you like crime/noir horror hybrids, check out Alan Baxter’s Manifest Recall. It’s a fast, gritty, mind-f*ck." — Paul Tremblay, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of A Head Full of Ghosts
"Alan Baxter’s fiction is dark, disturbing, hard-hitting and heart-breakingly honest. He reflects on worlds known and unknown with compassion, and demonstrates an almost second-sight into human behaviour." — Kaaron Warren, Shirley Jackson Award-winning author of The Grief Hole
"Alan Baxter is an accomplished storyteller who ably evokes magic and menace.” — Laird Barron, author of Swift to Chase
* * *
DEVOURING DARK
by Alan Baxter
Matt McLeod is a man plagued since childhood by a malevolent darkness that threatens to consume him. Following a lifetime spent wrestling for control over this lethal onslaught, he’s learned to wield his mysterious paranormal skill to achieve an odious goal: retribution as a supernatural vigilante.
When one such hit goes bad, McLeod finds himself ensnared in a multi-tentacled criminal enterprise caught between a corrupt cop and a brutal mobster. His only promise of salvation may be a bewitching young woman who shares his dark talent but has murderous designs of her own.
Devouring Dark is a genre-smashing supernatural thriller that masterfully blends elements of crime and horror in an adrenaline-fueled, life-or-death rollercoaster ride that’s emblematic of the fiction from award-winning author Alan Baxter.
REVIEWS:
"Devouring Dark is a thrilling mix of crime and horror, a book that somehow defies either description yet embraces both. It moves like a juggernaut, thundering towards an intense, emotional conclusion. I devoured Alan Baxter’s dark; you should too." — Gary McMahon, author of Pretty Little Dead Things
"Action-packed yet emotionally resonant, Devouring Dark held me to the last page." — Kaaron Warren, Shirley Jackson Award-winning author of Tide of Stone
"Devouring Dark is a powerful tale of crime and death, cleverly crafted and flawlessly executed. I’m a fan of Alan Baxter and Devouring Dark is a perfect example of why. Do yourself a favor and join me for some shivers." — James A. Moore, author of Seven Forges and the Serenity Falls Trilogy
* * *
SERVED COLD
by Alan Baxter
Collected together for the first time ever, these sixteen provocative and intensely chilling tales by multi-award-winning-author Alan Baxter venture into the depths of the darkest and most shadowy places where unspeakable horrors are the predators and we the willing prey.
Prepare for an always terrifying, frequently heartbreaking journey in multiple stages, each piece echoing Alan Baxter’s unique voice that effortlessly blends horror, fantasy and the weird with elements of the dark fantastique, resulting in an unforgettable volume of fiction.
REVIEWS:
"Step into the ring with Alan Baxter, I dare you. He writes with the grace, precision, and swift brutality of a prizefighter. Served Cold is a stellar showcase for his talents. If you haven’t had the pleasure of reading him yet, start here!” — Christopher Golden, New York Times bestselling author of Ararat and The Pandora Room
“In Served Cold Alan Baxter shows off his impressive versatility and range with a host of stories that mix old school terrors with very now concerns. At turns creepy and visceral, Baxter delivers the horror goods.” — Paul Tremblay, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of A Head Full of Ghosts and The Cabin at the End of the World
“Alan Baxter’s Served Cold is a feast for readers, who will push back from the table wanting more!” — John F.D. Taff, Bram Stoker Award-nominated author of The Fearing and Little Black Spots
* * *
LITTLE BLACK SPOTS
by John F.D. Taff
From the multiple Bram Stoker Award-nominated author of The Fearing comes his latest collection, Little Black Spots. Fifteen stories of dark horror fiction gathered together for the first time, exposing the delicate blemishes and sinister blots that tarnish the human condition.
A man stumbles on a cult that glorifies spontaneous human combustion. A disgraced nature photographer applies his skills for a vile outcome. A darkened city parking structure becomes dangerously and malevolently alive. An innocent Halloween costume has a husband seeing his wife in a disturbing new light. A ruined man sees far too much of himself in his broken family. A young boy finds a mysterious bottle of liquid containing a deadly secret. And so much more.
Little Black Spots is a beacon shining its light into some of life's most shadowy corners, revealing the dark stains that spatter all mankind
REVIEWS:
“From body horror, to vampires, to the downright strange, to horror of a quieter nature, the full spectrum of the genre is on display. The through line is the exquisite storytelling of a skilled and masterful author.” – This is Horror
"Taff is one of the genres greatest and most captivating writers. But the level of detail and skill on display in Little Black Spots is nothing short of incredible." – InkHeist
* * *
THE ISLE
by John C. Foster
Expose the darkest of secrets in this trip to the edge of the world. A deadly menace threatens a remote island community and every man, woman and child is in peril. Sent to the isle to collect the remains of a dead fugitive, US Marshal Virgil Bone is trapped by torrential storms. As the body count rises the community unravels, and Bone is thrust into the role of investigator. Aided by a local woman and the town pariah, he uncovers the island’s macabre past and its horrifying connection to the killings. Some curses are best believed. Sometimes the past is best left buried. And some will kill to keep it so.
REVIEWS:
"John Foster makes a twenty-first century contribution to the tradition of the New England Gothic, taking his lawman protagonist off the coast of the mainland United States to visit a small island in the North Atlantic whose inhabitants might have settled there from one of Nathaniel Hawthorne's Puritan fantasies. Himself riven by guilt over past misdeeds, U.S. Marshall Bone encounters a community on whom the sins of their ancestors continue to exert a very terrible and a very real force. Fast-moving, gripping, it's a tale straight from Old Man Atlantic's barnacled treasure chest." – JOHN LANGAN, Bram Stoker Award®-winning author of The Fisherman
"Dripping with claustrophobic malice, crawling with dread and otherness, The Isle is a journey into places best left alone. A chilling, disturbing, compelling tale." – ALAN BAXTER, Australian Shadows Award-winning author of Devouring Dark and Manifest Recall
* * *
BEFORE
by Paul Kane
In 1970s Germany, a mental patient at the end of his life suddenly speaks for the first time in years. A year later in Vietnam, a mission to rescue a group of American POWs becomes a military disaster.
In present day England, the birthday of college lecturer Alex Webber sends his life spiralling out of control as a series of disturbing hallucinations lead him to the office of Dr. Ellen Hayward. And things will never be the same again for either of them. Hunted by an immortal being known only as The Infinity, their capture could mean the end of humanity itself…
Part horror story, part thrilling road adventure, part historical drama, Before is a novel like no other. Described as "the dark fantasy version of Cloud Atlas," Kane's Before is as wide in scope as it is in imagination as it tackles the greatest questions haunting mankind—Who are we? Why are we here? And where are we going?
