The Watcher

The simplicity of it astounds me. I know what I want. I want to go back to chasing bad guys. Human bad guys. Williams doesn't know it yet, but my rogue hunting days are over. Killing is getting too easy. The Watchers will have to get along without me.

I'm at the grave site now and getting antsy. How long do I have to stand here? I stoop to place the flowers at the foot of the grave. I remain in that position for a couple of minutes, surreptitiously looking around.

Nothing. No movement. No sound. I can't stay here forever. Irritated, I straighten up. Williams' great plan is a bust. For all we know, The Ghost is long gone, satisfied that claiming one of us was enough. I turn on my heels and head for the car. Now what? What's David going to do now? Christ, what was Williams thinking when he put this stupid plan into effect?

The cop is still seated behind the wheel of the car when I get in and slam the door closed. "Let's get out of here," I snap.

This time, he turns in the seat to look at me. His cap is pulled low on his forehead and his blond hair is cut short and just touches the collar of his uniform. He has a neatly trimmed moustache the same color as his hair.

He smiles and his eyes give him away.

CHAPTER 65

MANY THOUGHTS PASS THROUGH MY HEAD Simultaneously. I wonder how he managed to pull this off, how remarkably different he looks with just a change of hair style and color, how long he's known that David was alive.

The smile on his face broadens. "Welcome back, A

"I'll bet. So what happens now?"

He reaches across the seat and snags my bag with one hand. "We go back to the hospital. I know a back way out of this place, a service road. It will take a while for the police to figure out that Elvis has left the building. By that time, I'll have finished what I set out to do. The next time you and your partner visit this place, the circumstances will be different."

He says it like I should tremble at his words. But he doesn't wait to see if I am. He is confident that it could be no other way. He is used to inspiring fear. So, he turns away from me and starts the engine.

I have a number of options open to me. I can jump out of the car now, signal the police, and let them take care of him. I can reach across the seat and snap his neck the way I did Marta's. I can let him think he's won and allow him a few more minutes to gloat before I show him what fear really is.

He adjusts the rearview mirror to keep me in sight. It doesn't work, of course, and he gives up finally, mumbling that the damned mirror must be broken. He tells me to move over to the right side of the seat so he can see me as he drives.

"Would you like me to get into the front seat with you? You could keep a closer eye on me that way."

He reacts with surprise to the way I address him. He pulls the car over and reaches over the seat to backhand me. My head snaps back, and blood flows from a cut on my lip. I smile and touch the cut with my tongue, let the blood pool and lick at it. "Is that the best you can do?"

He doesn't answer. He's looking at me, wondering why I'm not acting the way he expects. His eyes don't reflect real curiosity, there'd have to be some shred of humanity for that. Idle, bored speculation is the most he can muster. "Do you know who I am?"

I laugh. "A not very good hit man who let a couple of bounty hunters walk off with his prize."

And the minute I say that, I remember. I snap my fingers. "Of course. San Francisco. You were in the bar. The silk suit. You followed David and Tuturo outside."

A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitches. "It shouldn't have happened. He was mine."

"Evidently not. Evidently David appealed to him more than you did."

"Stupid fag," he snaps. "I spent the entire night watching those perverts, waiting for Tony to leave so I could follow him, and your partner walks in and waltzes him right out. It was sickening. I should have killed them both in the bar."

"I guess you should have. Ruined your reputation so I hear."

That gets a snicker. "No one, especially not a couple of amateurs from this pathetic town, is going to trash my reputation. Christ, even the police chief wasn't smart enough to recognize his own driver."

"How'd you pull that off anyway?"

“Thank SWAT. All those cops walking around in armor and headgear. Cops who think they're untouchable because they carry big guns. Won't they be surprised when they return to headquarters and find one of their fellow officers with his throat cut, stuffed in his own locker? Serves the arrogant bastards right."

Well, I guess I won't have to kill him after all. He's signed his own death warrant and all I have to do now is deliver him up.

"Well, you've certainly thought of everything," I say cheerfully. "Made my day, in fact. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

He shakes his head, frowning. "What the hell are you talking about? What choice?"

I guess that means we do it the hard way. I punch him with my fist so hard and so fast, his nose caves, his eyes close, the back of his head bounces off the steering wheel and he's out before his brain registers that he's been hit.

Man, that felt good. Not bad for an amateur.

AFTERWORD

THE INCREDULITY IN WILLIAMS' VOICE WHEN I radio that I've got The Ghost and the look on his face when he approaches the car and sees him unconscious against the steering wheel bring a smile to my face each time I think of them.

But what follows over the next two days is not fu

Williams is mortified that he hadn't bothered to ask for identification when the unfamiliar officer presented himself as his driver. But why would he? He was in the basement of his very own police department among a swarm of officers, not all of whom he could be expected to know personally.

Compounding the humiliation is guilt because a police officer was killed. There are questions from the press, from the officer's family, from the mayor and members of the city council. No one except those involved in the operation knew about The Ghost. The press is outraged that they were tricked into thinking David was dead. Now, the way Williams handled the situation is put under a spotlight and his every decision examined. The spotlight is not a comfortable place for an old-soul vampire to be.

I almost feel sorry for him. But while he is busy defending his choices, I am free to make some of my own. He leaves me a telephone message that he won't be going back to the park for a while. The press is hounding him and while he doesn't come out and say it, I know he can't take a chance that a reporter might see him disappearing through a magic doorway into an invisible underground facility. On top of everything else, that would be hard to explain.

Receiving the message is a relief. I'd already decided I'd had enough of the Watchers. Telling Williams that, though, is not going to be easy. I feel as if I've been granted a reprieve, even if it's only temporary.

After the capture of The Ghost, I returned to the hospital to welcome David back to the land of the living. Once the story got out, he had reporters camped at his bedside, too, until the hospital administration put a stop to it. Max and I were the only visitors allowed in to see him.

Then, Max left the hospital. He left without seeing me. I guess it's just as well. He knows what I am. I thought for a fleeting moment he might accept it. Since he didn't bother to say good-bye, I guess he doesn't.