The Drinker of Blood

Chapter Twenty

I limped away, feigning an injury so no one would think my sudden recovery too strange, and then headed for the nearest subway station to lose myself in the crowd. I'd been videoed and had been driving a stolen vehicle. Move along folks, nothing to see here.

My plans were in disarray, and those people who had helped me likely had forfeited their lives. No, I lie.

Things went south not because of anything Corey or Frisby had done. Whitefarrow had pushed his drivers and the police had shown up. Unless the man happened to see a video of me on the Internet being dragged from a car near his headquarters, there was no reason for him to blame anyone but himself for things going badly.

On the true downside, my enemy now knew I was in the city. And he would redouble his efforts to find me and to eliminate me. If he was careful and ruthless before, now he would positively be flying off the hinges. What would he not do to eliminate me?

I lost myself in the crowd, and then I lost myself in the city for a time before steering back toward my current hotel room. A short text from Corey told me that my enemy had made it back to his building and immediately had lawyered up. That was no surprise. There would be some legal troubles for a time, but .... Wait.

There would have to be a court date at some point. Even Whitefarrow would have to leave his bunker for something like that, if only for a short time. It was something I'd have to keep in mind.

But I'd lost Corey's assistance. He was smart enough and sufficiently disciplined to keep what had transpired under his hat, but he decided that he could no longer risk working for a person like Whitefarrow and resigned that same day. According to the short text he sent me, a number of his fellows went with him. I doubt any of them new Whitefarrow drank blood. To them, he was just a peculiar fellow who creeped people out.

It crossed my mind to apply for a security job there, but Whitefarrow and a few of his crowd knew me by sight. It would have been a good way to get close to the man.

Or I could burn his building down.

I was hoping to avoid that option. Not that I was terribly ethical, but enormous conflagrations do tend to draw unwanted attention from the authorities. Alas, I could think of no other way to force the man from hiding. Destroy his bunker, and he very soon would scamper out.

I already was making plans, trying to figure out how to approach the issue, when an app on my phone pinged. It was a short text from Rohan, who I had told how to contact me in case of emergency.

Whitefarrow wanted to talk.

I jumped at the opportunity. ... No, of course I didn't. My enemy didn't want to talk to me. He wanted me dead. Of that fact there was no doubt. Any attempts to reach out to me through Rohan were just feints to buy time in order for him to find me, or to lure me into some sort of trap.

Of course, Isolde was still alive. Perhaps, just perhaps, a deluded Whitefarrow thought he could leverage my old friendship with Rohan to buy his life in the same way? It seemed farfetched, but stranger things had happened.

I couldn't decide, and by that time I approached my hotel. As was my usual, I stopped and had a look around, then circled the block to see if I was being watched. It was a good time to be paranoid, and it wouldn't hurt to make sure no one had discovered my resting place.

On second thought, I collected my meager belongings, checked out, and sought other accommodations. Caution was my watchword, and I soon was established in new lodgings. My first act was to send Frisby a text telling him to go back to business as usual and that I'd have more instructions for him later. The chap probably was still at the café where I'd left him.