Midnight Mass

"He should be. He's their pastor."

"No. He leads the undead in the obscenities they perform in the church."

Joe stiffened and the glassiness cleared from his eyes.

"Palmeri? He's one of them?"

Zev nodded. "More than that. He's one of the local leaders. He orchestrates their rituals."

Zev saw rage flare in the priest's eyes, saw his hands ball into fists, and for a moment he thought the old Father Joe was going to burst through.

Come on, Joe. Show me that Cahill fire.

But then he slumped back.

"Is that all you came to tell me?"

Zev hid his disappointment and nodded. "Yes."

"Good." He grabbed the Scotch bottle. "Because I need a drink."

Zev wanted to leave, yet he had to stay, had to probe deeper and see how much of his old friend was left, and how much had been replaced by this new, bitter, alien Joe Cahill. Maybe there was still hope. So they talked on.

* * *

Zev looked up at the window and saw that it was dark.

"Gevalt! I didn't notice the time!"

Father Joe seemed surprised too. He stepped to the window and peered out.

"Damn! Sun's down!" He turned to Zev. "Lakewood's out of the question for you, Reb. Even the retreat house is too far to risk now. Looks like we're stuck here for the night."

"We'll be safe?"

He shrugged. "Why not? As far as I can tell I'm the only one who's been in here for weeks, and only in the daytime. Be pretty odd if one of those leeches decided to wander in here tonight."

"We'd have to invite it in, right?"

He shook his head. "Doesn't seem to work that way with stores. Only homes."

Zev's guderim twisted. "That's not good."

"Don't worry. We're okay if we don't attract attention. I've got a flashlight if we need it, but we're better off sitting here in the dark and shooting the breeze till sunrise." Father Joe smiled and picked up a huge silver cross, at least a foot in length, from atop one of the crates. "Besides, we're armed. And frankly, I can think of worse places to spend the night."

He stepped over to the case of Glenlivet and opened a fresh bottle. His capacity for alcohol was enormous.

Zev could think of worse places too. In fact he had spent a number of nights in much worse places since the Lakewood holocaust. He decided to put the time to good use.

"So, Joe. Maybe I should tell you some more about what's happening in Lakewood."

COWBOYS . . .

King of the world.

Al Hulett leaned back in the passenger seat of the big Cadillac convertible they'd just driven out of somebody's garage, burning rubber all the way, and let the night air mess with his spiky black hair.

As usual, Stan was driving with Jackie riding shotgun. Al and Ke

He leaned back and pounded a fist on the trunk. "Ay, shuddup up in there! You're messin with my meditation!"

This brought a howl of laughter from Ke

He and the Kenman had been together since grammar school. How many years was that now? Ten? Twelve? Couldn't be more than a dozen. No way. Whatever, the two of them had stuck together through it all, never breaking up, even when Ke

But they'd come through it all like gold. They'd hired out to the wi

Coulda turned out different. He and Ke

The right place was a bar they'd broken into, and the right time had been Easter morning—didn't know it was Easter then, only learned that later.

Al and Ke

Al and Ke

That Stan, man, he had a way with words.

Still. . . workin for the vampires . . .

Then Stan had made them an offer they couldn't refuse.

So that was why Al was riding in a Caddy tonight 'stead of on a Harley.

King of the fucking world.

Well, not king, really. But at least a prince ... when the sun was up.

Night was a whole different story.

If you could get used to the creeps you were working for, it wasn't too bad a set-up. Could have been worse, Al knew—a lot worse.

Like being cattle, for instance.

Pretty smart, those bloodsuckers. America thought it was ready for them but it wasn't. They hit high, they hit low, and before you knew it, they was in charge of the whole East Coast.

Well, almost in charge. They did whatever they damn well pleased at night, but they'd never be in charge around the clock because they couldn't be up and about in the daylight. They needed somebody to hold the fort for them between sunrise and sunset.

That was where Al and Ke

They could be cattle, or they could be cowboys and drive the cattle.

Not much of a choice as far as Al could see.

You see, the bloodsuckers had two ways of killing folks. They had the usual way of ripping into your neck and sucking out your blood. If they got you that way, you became one of them come the next sundown. But once they had the upper hand, they changed their feeding style. Smart, those bloodsuckers. If they got too many of their kind wandering around, they'd soon have nobody to feed on—a world full of chefs with nothing to cook. So after they were in control, they got the blood a different way, one that didn't involve sucking it out. You died unsucked, you stayed dead. Something they called true death.

But they'd offered Al and Stan and the guys undeath. Be their cowboys, herd the cattle and take care of business between sunrise and sunset, be their muscle during the day, do a good job for ten years, and they'd see to it that you got done in the old-fashioned way, the way that left you like them. Undead. Immortal. One of the ruling class.

"Ay-yo, Al," Ke

"What kinda vampire you go

Not again, Al thought. They'd worked this over too many times for Al's taste. It was getting real old. But Ke

Ke