The sedan pulled to a halt nearby and the driver’s side door opened. The chauffeur emerged, looking almost wraithlike in his black suit, gloves and tie. He wore the traditional chauffeur’s cap and his face was somewhat long, with prominent cheekbones. He looked at Violet’s damaged car, with its tires still spinning and took a step towards it. A bullet tore at the ground in front of his feet and he stepped back, his eyes finding Violet as she stood up beside the front wheels of her car.
“If you want to live to see tomorrow, you better get your hands up in the air,” she warned. To emphasize her point, she fired her gun again. This time, the bullet whizzed past the driver’s ear, coming so close to hitting him that he could hear the lead shell’s passing, like an angry bee.
The driver raised his hands slowly, though the expression on his face never wavered. He looked just as coldly disinterested as always. “Mr. Burkard would like to see you. He’s very insulted by the way you’ve tried to cut him out of the deal you made.”
“I was on my way to meet him for lunch,” Violet lied. She found the driver’s emotionless way of speaking to be appropriate for his overall demeanor but it was still quite chilling.
“You acquired The Damned Thing on your own. You have made no attempt to contact him. And the fact that you left your meeting with Mr. Armitage alone, in his vehicle, suggests that you have refused his overtures.”
“So now you’re going to drag me kicking and screaming to see your boss?”
“If I have to. But I would prefer that you simply get into the car and let me drive you there.”
“What’s your story? Why do you work for him? What’s your boss really after?”
“Mr. Burkard is a powerful man. He likes to own things. That includes people.”
“You’re a slave?”
The man shrugged. Now that he’d actually spoken, Violet was finding him to be shockingly chatty. “I am a servant. Mr. Burkard owns me, body and soul. If that makes me a slave… then so be it. We all have our masters, even if we choose not to admit it.”
“How philosophical.” Violet came around the car, keeping her gun pointed directly at the driver’s face. “So tell me… what’s going to stop me from taking your car and leaving you here?”
The driver’s lips spread wide in a terrifying expression that Violent only recognized as a smile in hindsight. To say that grinning was not the normal look of this man’s mouth would have been an understatement. “I cannot be killed by that gun of yours.”
“Want to test it?”
“If you like.”
Violet found his calm extremely unnerving. She looked up and down the dirt road but saw no one else approaching from either direction. She was going to have to handle this without any assistance. “Your choice.” Violet pulled the trigger twice, squeezing off two rounds that hit home in the driver’s neck and chin. Blood sprayed from the wounds and he tumbled over, both hands raised in a futile attempt to staunch the flow.
Not wanting to stand around and wait to see if his prediction would come true, Violet sprinted towards the man’s sedan. She yanked opened the door and slid behind the driver’s wheel, letting out a brief squeal of delight upon seeing the key still in the ignition.
She was about to put the car into reverse when a black-clad arm plunged in through the open window. Strong fingers snatched up Violet’s hair, holding her tight. She fumbled for the gun that lay in her lap and brought it up so that the barrel was shoved against the man’s groin. “Why won’t you bastards stay dead?!” she screamed, emptying the rest of her bullets into the driver’s crotch. He released his grip on her and stumbled back, holding his privates. The wounds might not kill him — if anything could — but he was enough of a man to still show some concern for the family jewels.
The car’s tires tore at the dirt, tearing deep rifts as she slammed into reverse. She saw the chauffeur standing there amidst the dust, straightening back up. He was bleeding profusely but it was obvious that he wasn’t about to fall. She wondered what the hell he was and decided in the end that it didn’t matter.
Violet shifted into drive and pressed her high-heeled shoe against the accelerator. The car surged forward, building up speed before striking the driver. His knees shattered as his body was thrown up against the windshield, splintering it. His momentum carried him over the roof of the car and down to the ground behind. Violet didn’t hesitate in the least, shifting back into reverse and accelerating. The car shook as it rolled over his body.
Pulling away a bit, Violet looked out and saw the shattered body lying still on the ground. The head was a mess, looking like a watermelon that someone had attacked with a hammer. One of her wheels had obviously caught his skull directly under its weight.
“Let’s see you get up from that,” she whispered. She began driving back towards town, ignoring the spider’s web of cracks in the windshield and the smoke that was now drifting up from beneath the hood.
WILL McKENZIE STEPPED into his office and slumped down into his chair. He ran a hand through his dark hair and suddenly felt much older than he truly was. Whoever said the holidays were a time of peace and relaxation should be dragged out into the woods and shot, in Will’s opinion. The phone on his desk rang, trilling three times before he decided to pick up the receiver. “Chief McKenzie here.”
The voice on the other end belonged to someone that Will had never thought to hear from again. It was Miles Knopf, the same Miles Knopf whose corpse was being prepared for a funeral over at People’s Funeral Home. “Hello, Will. I hope you’re a bit better off than I am.”
The blood drained from Will’s face and he sat up straight, holding the phone tight against his ear. “Miles? Is this… really you?”
“Yes. It’s me.” There was something slightly wrong with Miles’ voice. It sounded like he was talking around a mouthful of water… or blood. “Violet needs you, Will. Don’t let her go down this path alone.”
“What path? Where is she?”
“She has The Damned Thing. She thinks she can destroy it… but I don’t know if she can do that by herself. She needs someone to help give her strength. I’m getting weaker, Will. I won’t be able to manifest anymore… I already can’t do it physically. So you’re all she’s got left. If you love her — or ever loved her — go find her and make sure she isn’t alone.”
The connection died, leaving Will listening to the sound of a dial tone. He set down the phone and stood up again, surprised to find that his fingers were shivering. During the entire conversation, he’d kept picturing Miles the way he’d last seen him: at the crime scene, his face peeled away to reveal the red meat below.
A few moments later, Will stepped outside and wandered over to his secretary’s desk. Brenda Cooper manned the post, a perky blonde who wouldn’t admit to being over thirty. McKenzie knew the truth, however. She was pushing 35 and still unmarried. Given her nice figure and throaty laugh, you’d think that was unusual. But Will knew that Brenda was a recovering opium addict and her struggle with that made it hard to find time for romance. Will had given her a second chance a year or so ago, after busting her at local drug den. She’d stayed straight ever since and was now fiercely loyal to her boss.
“Brenda, I need you to do me a favor. A couple of them, in fact.”
“Anything, Chief.”
The eager expression in the girl’s eyes brought a smile to Will’s face. It wasn’t hard for him to get attention from the ladies but he knew that Brenda was carrying a torch for him the size of the Eiffel Tower. “If a woman named Violet Cambridge calls, you get me on the radio ASAP. And if any calls come in regarding her or these two groups, you do the same.”